


Ma Mala Emma

by Aoluas Anminti (AoluasAnminti)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dom/sub, Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Kink Meme, Mating Bond, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-28
Updated: 2017-08-22
Packaged: 2018-04-28 14:36:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 42,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5094374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AoluasAnminti/pseuds/Aoluas%20Anminti
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inquisitor Lavellan is suddenly struck by a rare elven condition, interfering with her ability to perform her job. Luckily, Solas is familiar with it and more than willing to help.</p><p>Imperfect Answer to this kinkmeme prompt: http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/14591.html?thread=54831871#t54831871</p><p>"A sort of odd request, but during their mating season wolves have certain habits, such as the alpha male becoming very territorial but also very flirty and touchy-feely towards his mate in the few days before the actual mating takes place. [. . .] SO, I'd like to see that played out with Solas and F!Lavellan, with Solas, being who/what he is and knowing that the season's about to begin, suddenly becoming very affectionate towards his 'mate', constantly brushing his body against hers as they travel, nuzzling heads while gently nipping at her ears/neck, running off any other males who come near her (and maybe Sera as well) while approaching females get a warning growl, etc."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Discovery

 

“Inquisitor, are you alright?”

 

Leliana’s voice seemed to wake Ellana from a haze. “Mm…? Yes. Yes, I’m fine. Tired, perhaps. Pay it no mind. Josephine, you were saying?”

 

Josephine also looked concerned, but was, as always, ready to return to business. “…yes. The results of your actions in Halamshiral are so far entirely beneficial to the Inquisition. You perfectly charmed the court, and it seems even changed some minds about the suitability of elves in high places, judging by the decreased difficulties Briala seems to be facing, when compared to what she says she might have expected. She and Empress Celene both are deeply indebted to you, and the court is enamored of you, all of which will surely prove useful in the future.”

 

“Good,” Ellana sighed, “it is good to finally have some unambiguously good news in all of this.”

 

“We have had victories before, Inquisitor.”

 

“Of course, Commander, I know, I only meant… I am tired. Is there anything else I should know?”

 

“Nothing pressing at the moment, Inquisitor.” Leliana said.

 

“Then, if you will excuse me.” Ellana chose not to notice the concerned glances her advisors shared as she vacated the war room.

 

Entering the great hall, she considered going out into the courtyard, or perhaps beyond the confines of Skyhold. She couldn’t breathe, she needed air, she needed…

 

She went to her quarters. Luckily the meeting had been late, and the main hall was quiet and still. She encountered no one on the way to her room.

 

She sifted through the reports, notes, papers and letters on her desk idly. She would have hoped her keeper might have warned her, but she knew she had no unopened letters from her clan. Perhaps he keeper had no reason to suspect that this might happen—most Dalish were bonded by Ellana’s age, after all. Barely an adult by Dalish standards, she would still have been expected to at least have an offer by now. Oh, she had been tempted…

 

What might have been was immaterial. She had waited too long, and now _melana sul isala_ was upon her. There were only rare cases of the condition in Dalish lore—no one knew, except that most were sure it had never been a thing before the fall of the People. Ellana had once hear an elder muse that perhaps _melana sul isala_ had been a natural byproduct of mortality, to ensure that the Elvhen did not immerse themselves solely in their other interests, to be sure that they had children and that the People were preserved. Ellana had shrugged it off, thinking it probably seemed logical. Most of the other young Elvhen she knew had readily used it as an excuse to bond early, and it had become kind of a running joke, because no one seemed to have libidos so quiet that an excuse was even necessary. _Melana sul isala_ had become a kind of myth to her. She had even considered the possibility that some Elvhen might use it as a way to excuse some disastrous sexual decision or another. No other Elvhen she had been around had really seemed to take it seriously—and why should they have?

Yet here she was, for all intents and purposes, in heat.

 

She wanted to fling everything of off her desk. She wanted to rage and curse the Creators and, and—

 

She was afraid.

 

There was almost no information about this. Going to the library was pointless, the Dalish would never let on in human writings about something like this. Humans already often abused the Elvhen sexually... what tortures might knowledge of the _melana sul isala_ inspire? Isolating some young elf for years, until…and then…

 

Nor could Ellana send a letter to her Keeper. Leliana or one of her agents—humans, almost entirely—would surely read the missive, as was their job, and then the secret would be out. Never mind the horrifying prospect of explaining to Leliana and Josephine and Cullen---

 

Cullen…

 

Ellana clenched her thighs together. Her smalls, which had already been damp and uncomfortable most of the day, now seemed flooded. She had heard stories of human men, their size, and Cullen had been a Templar. How muscled must he be, able to move so easily in that plate armor all day? And the man was not hard on the eyes. What if _he_ knew…? There was nothing between them, but what if she…?

 

She caught herself grinding on the edge of her desk, panting, and was mortified. A moment’s lost control, and she was _rutting the accursed furniture_ , thinking about the _commander of her military forces_.

 

_Oh, Creators…_

 

She needed to find out what this was. How long it was, whether it would last, how to _stop_ it. She worried her lip with her teeth. She could travel to Wycombe, seek out her Keeper, and ask—but she knew Keeper Deshanna, who had never given any sign that she knew more than what the rumors told about _melana sul isala_ , and moreover would prefer the simple solution of arranging a mate for her First. Ellana did not have time to find a suitable man to bond with, and considering her position and the power that would automatically be assumed by anyone in that position, it was too critical a decision to leave even to her Keeper.

 

The Inquisition had unearthed scads of elven lore from ruins around the world. Perhaps… and Morrigan seemed to know a great deal more than she ought about Eluvian and other Elvhen aritfacts…

 

No. The Inquisition’s focus was on tactically useful information—weapons, magic, building techniques, even, and Morrigan’s knowledge seemed to follow much the same vein. It would be like asking a blacksmith about an issue for which a healer was needed. Besides, while Morrigan obviously held no love for her fellow humans, it would still feel like betraying the People to reveal this quirk of Elvhen biology.

 

Nonetheless, Ellana resolved to search through the recovered Elvhen texts. Changing her smalls and taking deep breaths of the crisp mountain air, she descended into the main hall and made her way to the library.

 

She gave Dorian only a quick wave as she passed, prompting a curious look from him, but she did not trust herself to stop and chat, even knowing his preferences. _Especially_ knowing his preferences. It might do more damage to their relationship if she threw herself at him than with anyone else. What would he think, that she did not respect him? That she thought she could change him? Yet she found her mind lingering shamefully on what the parts of his physique exposed by his armor implied about the rest of him.

 

She focused on her least sexual memories, found the Elvhen texts, and devoted herself to their study.

 

-*-

 

Hours later, she cursed foully and did swipe the papers off of the table she’d claimed. The Librarian gave her a mildly reproachful look, but she could not care. She put her face in her hands.

 

 _Nothing_. Not a hint, not a reference. She knew the basics of becoming a Rift Mage or a Knight Enchanter, but she had no information about Elvhen physiology. _Nothing_ that they had collected had mentioned any part of Elvhen health or biology or even social customs. It was so practical and so terribly useful for the Inquisition and so _useless_.

 

“Anything I might help with?”

 

She tilted her head in the cradle of her fingers until her eyes were clear of her hands and she could see Dorian. She found herself tracing his fine, aristocratic features with her gaze. She shifted in her chair, and buried her face in her hands again. “…I can’t.”

 

“Oh? Can’t what? Cope with my devastating charm?”

 

Letting out a laugh that sounded more like a sob, Ellana lowered her hands. “I want to tell you, Dorian. I... I can’t. I…” _want to taste your clavicle_. She stood up abruptly. “I need to go.”

 

“Ellana?” he called after her all but fleeing form.

 

She went through the first doorway she encountered, and cursed. She had meant to use the long stairs, down to the empty main hall, but had instead gone into the curving stairwell to the rotunda. Sola…might not be there, she thought. While he was found there during the day, it was late, and…where did he sleep?

 

She thought of Solas reclining in some small private room somewhere, perhaps in only a thin linen shirt with a fire going in a small hearth, what the expression on his face might be like if she crept into that room, in nothing but the thinnest wrappings she owned…

 

“Fenhedis!” she gasped. Her skin felt flushed and warm all over, she wanted to follow the fantasy through, she wanted never to think of it again. It was different. Dorian and Cullen she had never, well, she _had_ flirted with Dorian and Cullen both, but she hadn’t been _serious_. Solas, on the other hand… that kiss in the Fade…

 

She swallowed hard. _He won’t be in there, he won’t be there_... she maintained the mantra in her head. She felt light headed and she concentrated to maintain some semblance of control over her thoughts. She couldn’t go back through the library without facing Dorian’s questions, she had to go forward. Tomorrow, she would tell Josephine to arrange for her to stay in a cabin somewhere for a month—or more. She would wait. Perhaps it was seasonal? In any case, she could do her own research, or travel to her clan, or….anything, almost, was better than staying in Skyhold, a hair’s breadth away from shaming her Inquisition at every step.

 

As she stepped into the rotunda, she decided that the Creators were laughing at her.

 

Solas looked up from the papers on his desk curiously. “Lethallan?”

 

“Lethallin,” she gasped.

 

His brows knit as he scanned her from head to toe. She had plastered herself to the wall when she caught sight of him. “Ane son, lethallan? Are you well?”

 

“I…” She didn’t know if it was because she had exhausted her reserve of will controlling herself around others, or if it was because he was Elvhen, or if it was because her feelings for him had already trended this way, but her urges were astonishingly potent standing now before Solas. She shifted and her soaked smalls moved against her and she mewled, a high, thin sound that she desperately hoped no one in the library above could hear.

 

Solas’s face smoothed in understanding and Ellana bolted for the door to the main hall, but he was faster than she expected, and caught her arm at the threshold. The heat of his hand on her arm was like an electric current flowing through her body, and she found herself breathless.

 

Solas opened his mouth to say something, then shook his head, glancing up to the walkways of the library. “Come with me, lethallan. Trust me.” He kept his hand on her arm, but only resting, guiding—it would have been easier than walking to shift away from his hold, yet she only worked harder to keep the contact as he lead her across the main hall, to the covered walkway around the garden, up the stairs, and into on of the rooms she had assumed uninhabited and unfurnished. He released her arms and raised wards against sounds and sight inside the room.

 

“Sit, please, lethallan,” he said, gesturing to the bed.

 

Docile and ashamed and vaguely hopeful, she sat on the bed. There was a desk next to it but no chair that she could see, (at least not in the darkness of the unlit room), a small armoire, and three slim bookshelves, filling the walls from floor to high ceiling, full to bursting. Nervously, Ellana cleared her throat, and focused on trying to breathe at a normal pace. _I want him I want him I want him_

 

Solas pulled a stool from underneath the desk—why hadn’t she thought of that?—and considered her for a long moment. He opened his mouth, seemed to reconsider, and asked, “What do the Dalish call it?”

 

“… _melana sur isala_.”

 

Solas smirked to himself. “Artless, but I suppose that’s the essence of it.”

 

“You…know...? I mean, about—“

 

“Yes,” he interrupted. “I am well aware. How long have you…felt…this way, lethallan?”

 

She swallowed. She tried not to think about _his ears I want to lick his ears and down his neck and nip at his chest I’ve never seen his chest I want to_ “ I was feeling… odd, four days ago. Today… the… I knew.” She closed her eyes. She was undressing him with them and she needed to stop but the images behind her eyelids were even more—

 

“Forgive me,” he began, regaining her attention, “but when did you last…”

“Last?” she breathed, gathering her wits about herself. “This is the first time this has happened.”

 

“No, I meant…lethallan, look at me.”

 

She opened her eyes—closing them had been doing nothing to cool her ardor anyway. She held herself rigidly still on the bed, hands clasped in her lap. He knew what was happening to her, but she didn’t want to make more of a fool of herself than she could avoid.

 

“When did you last lay with someone?” When her eyes widened, he explained, “It will help me determine how best to help you.”

 

“…never.”

 

His eyebrows rose, but he did not ask her to repeat herself. He looked to the side, at one of his bookshelves, and seemed to be considering his options.

 

“Ma halani, lethallin,” she whispered.

 

He stood up and retrieved a mortar and pestle from the bookshelf. “There are a variety of ways, but you might find a potion to suppress these…desires…to be the most palatable option.” He looked over her consideringly, and she thought—she could not trust herself, but she though she saw heat in his eyes, for a moment, before he turned back towards the bookshelf. “I will prepare it within the hour. You…are safest waiting in your chambers. I will bring it to you.”

 

“Ma serannas, Solas.” She rose, and breathing deeply, focused on the door. It was easier, knowing that he knew. She could devote herself to not…

 

_straddling him ripping his clothes open sucking on his wrist peeling his leggings off_

 

…behaving inappropriately, without worrying about also having to hide that effort. She made her way back to her room without looking back. She removed her smalls, hoping this was the last change of them she’d need that evening, and crawled under the covers of her ridiculously ornate bed.

 

-*-

 

It was before the stroke of one that Solas had finished the potion and was ascending the stairs to deliver it to the Inquisitor. He had never expected to see her in such a state. This wonderful, commanding, intelligent, thoughtful woman, who had changed his perception of the world, made wanton and vulnerable by, of all things, mating season.

 

He paused on the steps, remembering and indeed relishing the memory of her coming into the rotunda, caught against the wall like a deer pinned by the gaze of a hunter, so _ready_ he could smell her from his seat at his desk. It had taken more of his control than he liked admitting to simply lead her to his chamber rather than taking her there. He recalled observing recollections of the Fade, faint whispers of the Ancient Elves and more recent yet still ancient memories of free Elvhen, consumed in the heat of the season, as they sometimes allowed when summer turned to autumn, chasing each other, claiming their quarry when and wherever they caught them, delighting, devouring…

 

He steadied himself with a breath. Those Elvhen knew exactly what they were doing. If he had done the same with Ellana…without her knowledge, he could not claim to have her consent. He would not violate her that way. The scent of her had made his blood sing and roar in his veins, yet he could wait. They were circling each other, tentative, hesitant each for their own reasons, moving slowly…and there was a pleasure in that, as well.

 

He made to continue up the stairs, but his progress was arrested by a low moan. _Is she…?_

 

He padded a few steps higher, silently, until he could see just through the bannister into the open space of the bedchamber. He had not been inside before, but her sighs drew his gaze to the bed. He climbed to the head of the stairs, his eyes never drifting from her writhing form.

 

The covers were drawn up to her neck, he could see nothing inappropriate, and _yet_ …

 

Her squirming had drawn those covers tight around her. He saw the shape of one breast, on the side where one hand was extended out from her side, presumably clutching the sheets underneath. The other arm was drawn down her side, over her stomach, her hand moving rhythmically between thighs that she alternately clenched and spread. As he stood, transfixed, she arched her back, lifted her knees, and began grinding against her own hand. Solas felt lightheaded; his mouth went dry. She had known he would be coming, he had said—was this for him? Or had she simply decided to take matters into her own hands—quite literally. He knew that this was possibly the worse thing she could do, that attempting to attend to her own needs would only exacerbate the symptoms of the _melana sur isala_ , as the Dalish called it—her Season.

 

 _She must not know_ , he thought _, and she will drive herself mad this way_. “Lethallan,” he began, and finding his voice much deeper and rougher than he had expected, cleared his throat and tried again. “Lethallan, I am here.”

 

She froze for a moment, then slowly sat up, locking eyes with him. The blankets pooled at her waist, revealing nothing but dusky skin, and pert dark nipples. Had Solas been Andrastian, he was sure this would have been an ideal time for a phrase like “Maker preserve me”.

 

He walked towards her slowly, and placed the potion on the nightstand next to her. _Oh, but I do want her_ … “That…will not help, le—Ellana. Trying to sate yourself will only heighten your—”

 

“I know,” she said, fixated on him.

 

He nodded, stiffly. He would _not_ take advantage. “I believe this potion will help you, but you will have to take it for as long as this lasts, or until…”

 

“Until…?”

 

He looked at her, her long dark hair damp and disheveled, begging him to smooth it out of her face. He wanted to nuzzle her neck and _oh, fenhedis_ , he could smell her, more strongly than before. The respect and affection he held for this woman, and now she set his body aflame as he had not felt in centuries. _Millennia_. It was not possible that she should be this perfect, that she should affect his world so thoroughly and so pleasurably. Her breasts were still exposed, and he found himself in an intriguing reversal of roles; he wanted to worship _her_. He wanted to show her all that he could do to please her, and at the same time wanted to bend her to his will, claim her, _mark_ her, so all could see that she was _his_ —

 

“Solas? Until…?”

 

He ruthlessly forced his mind to his task, which was to help her _suppress_ her desires, not give in to them, as she had asked. Although… she had not asked. She had asked him to help her. She hadn’t specified _how_.

 

“Until you find—until you _choose_ a lover, to offer you release.” He locked gazes with her, and saw as her breath caught in her throat at his words. He made no effort to hide anything. _Let her see my desire, as I have seen hers_. “There are three ways to attend to _melana sur isala_. You can attempt to suppress it with potions,” he gestured idly toward the small, corked bottle on her nightstand, “you can seclude yourself and enter a deep meditative state until it subsides, or entrust yourself to a lover.” He did not outright ask her to choose, only waited, watching.

 

She was trembling, faintly. Had she not reached release, he wondered. Perhaps she had, and the increased intensity was flooding her senses. How would she react, now, if he were to run his sharp teeth from her knee to her ankle? He was sure that she would obey if he ordered her to the floor, so that she might attend to his straining erection—but he would not begin this. She must give him that first permission; he would not touch her otherwise. He watched.

 

-*-

 

Ellana’s eyes flicked to the potion when she could no longer bear the heat of Solas’ stare. She understood. Her mind was thick with lust but she was nonetheless herself underneath and she understood and she _wanted_ him. She had for some time.

 

She reached out to grasp his wrist, and his smirk made her shiver pleasantly. She licked her lips, and he knelt next to the bed, turning his wrist in her grasp so that he could stroke the underside of her wrist with his long fingers. Her mouth felt thick and clumsy in her mouth, but she nonetheless managed to breathe “I entrust myself to you.”

 

He was on her almost before shed finished the last syllable. “Ma mala emma,” he growled, before shoving the covers down to her feet, kneeling between her thighs, and lowering his mouth to her sex.

 

Her back arched and she loosed a keening wail. He held her hips down roughly and drew his tongue up her slit in a long, slow movement. “Be still,” he commanded, and slipped two fingers into her already dripping sex. Ellana whined but complied as best as she was able, and as a reward for her obedience, he crooked his fingers and drew them slowly along her inner walls, sucking gently on her clit, delighting as she came apart before him. He kissed her damp thigh, and in her daze Ellana thought he might have used an edge of the sheet to wipe his face. He moved up to lay beside her, smug as she moved towards him, curling up against him.

 

“How frustrated you must have been, to be so close with little prospect of relief.” He murmured, smoothing her hair away from her face as he had been wanting to do. “But, I am here now.”

 

Ellana felt her head clearing with every moment she spent up against Solas’ warmth, awash in the feeling of satiety. “How did you know about this?”

 

“You specifically, or the condition in a more general sense?” He began nuzzling her neck, inhaling deeply, his hot breath washing over her skin.

 

“I…hmm. Both?”

 

He hummed as if thoughtful, but she rather thought he did it simply to make her melt at the sensation against her skin. “In Ancient Arlathan, some Elvhen used to go long spans without specifically to bring it about. They enjoyed the enhanced _pleasure_ ” he punctuated the word with a slow kiss along the length of her ear, making her pant “…that the Season can bring.”

 

“Ah, oh…” she breathed, and it wasn’t even clear to her if she was answering or just reacting to his administrations.

 

“It was common knowledge, it seems, and not difficult to find scenes of if you know where to look in the Fade. As for how I knew about _you_ , Ellana,” he turned her around so that her back was to his front, and held her to him with surprising strength. He took the tip of her hear between his teeth gently, applying no pressure, before letting it go to finish his answer against her neck. “I _smelled_ you.”

 

Solas hooked a leg over hers and wordlessly encouraged her to spread her thighs enough that his hand, smoothing down between her breasts and over the plane of her stomach, could slip over her mound. He didn’t do anything more than rest his hand there, as Ellana fought a growing urge to grind against it.

 

“Shall I explain to you what you can expect from your Season?”

 

She nodded, whined, and pressed against his hand.

 

Solas curled his longest finger inward, stroking up and down at a maddeningly slow pace. “What was that?”

 

“Yes! Yes, I want… I want to know.” She tried to grind at a faster pace, but his leg and his arms kept her still, exactly where he wanted her. She felt him, hard, pressing against her back. His whole body was firm and warm behind her and the desire that had been sated was rushing back, making her head buzz.

 

“I have always admired your curiosity,” Solas purred. “From what you told me, you can expect this to last another three weeks—a little less, perhaps. You desires will intensify.” He kept up the steady, slow, gentle, _maddening_ pace of his finger, and kept her firmly in place. “In a day or two, they will be at their peak, and stay that way for perhaps ten days. Gradually, your libido will return to normal.”

 

“ _Please_ …”

 

He pressed a second finger to her, taking her clit between them, but did not speed up in the slightest. “Some might say you’re lucky; not everyone experiences a Season. Having started, you’ll have one at least every three years.” She was wet halfway to her knees, and the sounds his fingers made as they moved over were positively obscene, and she relished it. Solas nuzzled her neck, nipping occasionally, listening to her increasingly labored breaths.

 

“You will get quite a reaction from other Elvhen. Any whose senses have not dulled completely _will_ smell you, as I did…though they may not know what is enticing them so.” He tightened his leg around hers and shifted, drawing it back, so she was more open to him. Moving his hand lower, his slipped two fingers into her, while his thumb rubbed over her nub, still in such slow circles that she didn’t think she could bear it. No one had ever taken such time with her before. _She_ had never gone so slowly with herself before. She could feel something building within her, but she’d never felt it before. It was powerful. It frightened her a little, but she did not resist his hold.

 

“Who knows what the humans might sense; it doesn’t matter. You’re _mine_ ,” Solas growled, covering her neck and shoulder with open-mouthed kisses and small bites, “and I will ensure that anyone able to sense your Season will sense that as well.” He pressed his lips to her throat as she threw her head back, whimpering, tensing as that slowly building _something_ suffused every inch of her. “ _Ma mala emma_ , Ellana, and I will take care of you.”

 

“ _Ahh,_ Solas…!”

 

“ _Come for me, vhenan_ ,” he ordered, growled. He held her tightly, and she trembled, and—

 

Flew apart.

 

She was shaking. She thought she might be screaming, she didn’t know, he whole world was the rush of pleasure, everywhere, _everywhere_ , and Solas, Solas the only other person in her world, holding her, anchoring her, as she was swept away, shaking apart, his voice soft in her ear whispering—she didn’t know, Ancient Elvhen, but it sounded like praise, it felt like praise, even rough and low and she’d never heard his voice like this before, and everything, everything, _everything_ so _good_ —

 

Then, nothing.

 

-*-

 

Solas kissed her hair as she went limp in his arms, and gently untangled himself. He ached to take her, so much that it was very nearly painful, but what was he if not patient? He rose and, ignoring his discomfort, looked around her bedchamber until he found a stand with a bowl next to the fire, going over to it, he was happy to see water already in it, warmed by the fire. He looked in the small rooms on either side of her bed until he located her bathing supplies, and took a few cloths. Dampening them, he first wiped his hands and face. After that, gently so as not to wake her, he bathed his Inquisitor. His mate.

 

When he had finished, he pulled the covers over her and glanced at the potion, still where he’d set it on the bedside table. He decided to leave it. There was no reason to take it with him; he’d been dealing privately with his Season for years. After so many years, finally he did not have to.

 

He went down through the still empty main hall, then the garden, then his room, inordinately pleased with the thought that Ellara was just above him. He found ideas, alluring and wicked and perfect flitting through his head, and knew that the next fortnight would be splendid.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to add this kind of whenever; I did not expect anyone to read it in the first few hours it was online. Thank you to all of you guys! Muah! <3
> 
> Glossary of Elvhen Terms:
> 
> Ma mala emma – you are now mine, Now you’re mine, you+now+mine  
> Lethallan(f) / lethallin (m) – friend, person I am familiar (and friendly) with  
> Ane son – you are well, made a question by the question mark  
> Fenhedis – damn/shit/fuck… you get the concept  
> Melana sur isala – [should be really damn obvious by now, or I haven’t done my job] time of (sexual) desire, (mating) heat  
> Ma halani – Help me
> 
> Eternal thanks to the great work done in making and maintaining the Dragon Age Wiki, specifically the page on Elvhen ( http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/Elven_language ), and ESPECIALLY the lingojam translator: http://lingojam.com/ElvenDAI
> 
> If you notice any issues with my translations from or to the Elven language (and I'm sure there will be a few, we are dealing with an incomplete vocabulary and suspiciously flexible grammar here), feel free to send me a note. I know I've used Elvhen to refer to both the language and the People here, which I'm aware isn't necessarily canon (Tabris in DA:O refers to the language as "Elvish", I think), but I kind of just felt like it. "Elvish" seemed like too much of a Theodosian Common description of the language of the elves (like "Spanish" is an English word for the Spanish language, but people who speak Spanish, when referring to the language around others who speak Spanish, use the word Español), so I changed it.
> 
>  
> 
> Original Prompt (again):
> 
> A sort of odd request, but during their mating season wolves have certain habits, such as the alpha male becoming very territorial but also very flirty and touchy-feely towards his mate in the few days before the actual mating takes place. [. . .] SO, I'd like to see that played out with Solas and F!Lavellan, with Solas, being who/what he is and knowing that the season's about to begin, suddenly becoming very affectionate towards his 'mate', constantly brushing his body against hers as they travel, nuzzling heads while gently nipping at her ears/neck, running off any other males who come near her (and maybe Sera as well) while approaching females get a warning growl, etc.


	2. Awakening

Ellara awoke feeling… _languorous_.

 

She couldn’t remember ever being this relaxed, this loose, certainly not since everything with the inquisition began. She thought she might be content to remain in bed all day, and just then she couldn’t think of anything that could possibly be pressing enough to force her out of bed right then. Feeling no need even to open her eyes, she stretched, and rolled, pressing her face into her pillow, and smelled…Solas.

 

The reminder of him sent a frisson of pleasure through her body, making her clench her thighs and press her face deeper into the pillow, breathing deeply. The events of the previous night flowed through her mind, and she was sure even without the _melana sur isala_ , the memory would have made her gasp and shiver. “Solas…” she sighed.

 

“Yes, vhenan.”

 

Ellana’s eyes snapped open and she turned towards his voice, seeing him lounging on the plush couch near her bed, one leg crossed over the others, watching her with… pride? Satisfaction?

 

 _Possessiveness_. The thought made her shiver, and sent a jolt straight to her core. She felt herself moisten, just knowing he was right there, _seeing_ him so near, so close, close enough to touch if she’d only—

 

“How did you sleep?”

 

She opened her mouth to reply. _Well. Perfectly. Poorer without you beside me._ Then her brow knit. “….dreamlessly.” Fear overwhelmed her ardor in a rush. “Solas, am I cut off from the Fade? My magic…”

 

Solas came to sit on the edge of her bed and ran his knuckle along her jaw, up behind her ear and down again. “Atish, vhenan. Your connection to the Fade is undamaged.” Ellana saw approval in his eyes, a slight smile, though she couldn’t place what prompted it. “You may even find your elemental magic strengthened, at the end of all this… but don’t worry about a night of dreamless sleep.” He examined her face as she relaxed at his words, and then over the rest of her body, concealed by the bedclothes. “Sit up, vhenan.”

 

Licking her lip, Ellana did as he said, making no effort to prevent the covers from pooling around her waist, as they’d done the night before. She watched Solas attentively, and it seemed to please him. He took the edge of the covers in one hand, carefully avoiding touching her skin, and slowly drew them down until she was entirely bare before him. She felt her skin prickle into gooseflesh, but was sure it had nothing to do with the faint draft in her room. Solas’ gaze roved over her body, head to toe, taking in her lithe, willowy curves, so typical of Elvhen women, and her scars, rather less typical. He scanned over the long, thin scar to the right of her midline where a dragon had nearly eviscerated her, the faint discoloration of her shoulder where a lucky Red Templar had impaled her (not so lucky immediately afterwards), the suspiciously smooth and hairless skin of her forearms where the magical energy of maintaining a barrier had singed her just enough to smooth the skin and ensure hair never grew again, and the ribs Solas himself had to repair and partially rebuild after Corypheus had crushed them during the devastation of Haven. Ellana arched her back and watched him with hooded eyes.

 

“Ir ina’lan’ehn,” Solas breathed, before gripping her neck and pulling her into a fervent kiss. A high, needy noise escaped Ellana, which might have embarrassed her, only Solas growled in response and gave her lower lip a sharp nip before plundering her mouth again. Their tongues intertwined, caressing, exploring, hungry, and he leaned back, pulling her until she had to brace herself on her hands and knees to keep contact. He broke the kiss and leaned forward, laving her neck on one side with his mouth, two fingers gently squeezing along the edge of her ear on the other. The hand on her neck he had moved down to her side, his thumb brushing the swell of her breast, but avoiding the erect point of her nipple. She squirmed and pressed her thighs together, not that it did anything to calm her, and tilted her head back to give Solas all the access he wanted, keening.

 

“Come,” Solas rumbled, and while Ellara thought she might well be on the verge, she didn’t think she could _quite_ do it on command.

 

Before she had a chance to give Solas a confused look, he pulled away from her neck and, placing both hands on either side of her waist, lifted and moved her into a position straddling him on the end of the bed. He encouraged her to perch, knee pressed tight to his hips, lifting her up so her breasts were at eye level for him. Ellana looked down at Solas wide-eyed; she hadn’t known he was strong enough to lift her, and he had seemed to do it so _easily_. He smirked at her surprise, and stroked his hands slowly over her hips and thighs. He bent his forehead to her stomach and inhaled deeply, then pulled her suddenly, roughly forward, kissing and biting from her navel to one breast, then the other, enveloping the tip in his mouth _soft and wet and hotter than I expected, sweet Creators_ , then pulled her nipple between his teeth, just hard enough that she knew he was holding back.

 

Ellana shifted restlessly, hearing her blood rush through her. In this position she couldn’t close her legs and her moisture was beginning to run down her thighs. He was touching her and it was _so good_ , but he hadn’t even breathed near where she wanted him most. The sweet, sated feeling she’d woken with was long gone and she wanted him to attend to the fire he’d lit inside her. “Please. Solas, _please_ …” she panted.

 

“Vin, vhenan. Gen’av’ahna sul em,” he growled.

 

“I don’t…” He ran his fingers over the now slick skin of her inner thighs. Ellana swallowed, tried to calm her breathing. _Words_. “I don’t understand.”

 

He hummed against her breast, then pushed her into a lower crouching position, and kissed her again, hard, biting and claiming her and swallowing her moans and mewls. As suddenly as he’d kissed her he moved her up into her previous position, nipped at the underside of her breast and slipped three fingers into her sopping sex. Ellana threw her head back and her back arched suddenly and involuntarily, and except for Solas’ hand warm and steadying at her back, she was sure that she would have fallen off of the bed entirely.

 

“Itha fra em, vhenan. Look at me.”

 

Ellana straightened and looked down at Solas, who was looking up to catch her eyes. His hand on her back moved up to her neck and brought her into another kiss, much gentler this time. She gripped his shoulder with one hand, to steady herself, and his arm with the other, to keep his hand inside her. He extended the thumb of that hand and rubber over her clit, unhurried, but faster than the night before. His kiss was gentle and affectionate. Somehow she had only just realized that he was fully clothed while she knelt astride him, entirely naked, and the realization seemed to heighten every sensation. Even the soft, ridged texture of his sweater was sensuous under her fingers.

 

Pressing his fingers deeper, his thumb more firmly against her, he commanded “Ride, vhenan.” She needed no more prompting.

 

Ellana began slowly, the position unfamiliar, her movements awkward, but Solas’ gaze and his other hand steadied her. She didn’t need to be told not to break eye contact—she wanted to keep looking at him, at the fascination and arousal on his face as he watched her raptly. She wanted him to see her face when she peaked. His hand swept from her neck back down to her back, no longer holding her bent over him, but she didn’t straighten immediately, brushing her lips over his forehead before arching her back again, careful not to go too far this time, careful to keep looking at Solas. _My Solas_.

 

She picked up her pace and moved both of her hands to his shoulders; his hand wasn’t going anywhere, she needn’t hold to his arm. As she moved faster, bringing herself down a little more forcefully, her eyes hooded in pleasure. She kept them open, just, focused on Solas’s face. A wail bubbled up inside her and she bit her lip, trying to suppress it, but paused when she felt Solas’s blunt nails at the base of her neck.

 

“Let me hear you, vhenan. Will you hide your pleasure from me?” His voice was low, as she had only heard it just the night before, dangerous somehow—but not to her, never to her. His voice was like a caress in itself, his lilting, unique accent… she would do anything he wanted of her if he asked in that voice.

 

She shook her head, panting her reply, “I will not hide from you…vhenan.”

 

Something like triumph shone in his eyes. “ _Good_.” He leaned forward suddenly, pushing her back, and only his free hand supporting her back kept her from truly falling. She was at his mercy, and his hand was pistoning into her. Her breath came in gasps and panting moans, and she didn’t even think to muffle herself again. Her head fell back as she felt her orgasm rushing up on her.

 

“ _Look at me_ , vhenan.”

 

With great effort, she lifted her head and locked eyes with Solas. He was so focused, she felt like the only thing that mattered in his world in that moment, and when had anyone looked at her like that and not been looking at just the Inquisitor? She had never been looked at like that. She struggle to articulate her feelings—so hard—so much harder _right now_ , with his hand rushing in and out of her and his thumb rubbing over her nub again and again and her toes curling and her vision starting to go in sparks—she said the first thing that came to mind as she came, and was much too far gone to note the tingle of magic enveloping their bodies.

 

“Ar am mar! Ah, _Solas_!”

 

-*-

 

Solas’ eyes went wide, and he supported her as she shuddered and went limp in his hold. He pulled his hand out of her, wiping it on his knee so that he could support her without slipping. He stood and turned around, gently laying her back down in the bed. As he gathered cloths and warm water and tended to her in a repeat of the night before, his mind went over the words she’d said and the magic he felt as she came.

 

She couldn’t have known what she was saying, yet for the bonding to work, light and likely impermanent as it was, there had to be both power and intent behind it—and for it to take within him as well, he had to harbor no aversion to her.

 

 _This does make things simpler_ , he thought. With the bond in place, he would have less to worry about when it came to controlling Ellana around other men—though he would still have to be watchful of other men around his…mate.

 

He brushed her sweaty, damp hair out of her face and looked at her for a long while. He had neither seen nor heard tell of anyone with her wisdom and poise since the fall of the Elvhen. He remembered how expertly she’d navigated the intrigues, lies, and manipulations of the Orlesian court just days earlier, as though born to power, accustomed to maneuvering. He had watched with, he now admitted, more than great respect and admiration, as she beat the nobles at their own game like an inveterate master.

 

 _Yes_ , he thought. It was a strange way to find out, but he was more than happy for her to be his mate. For her to be his.

 

-*-

 

Ellana woke to quiet, indistinct murmuring, and long fingers moving gently and repeatedly over her lips and neck. She hummed and turned onto the caress, prompting an indulgent chuckle.

 

“Wake, vhenan. You are expected at your morning meetings, and it is very nearly not morning any longer.”

 

Catching his hand and kissing his wrist, Ellana murmured, “And whose fault is that, vhenan?”

 

Solas smirked and leaned down to kiss her, gentle, exploring. “I only sought to help.” He pressed something small, cold, hard and irregularly shaped into her hand. When she sat up and looked, it was the vial of potion from the night before. “I suspect that it will be extremely useful in getting through the day…undistracted.”

 

She looked up at him, then down at the potion, and without hesitation, popped the cork out of the neck and swallowed the contents. While most potions were foul-tasting, this one was smooth and tasteless, with a lingering feeling like the sun on snow. The various “afterimages” of different potions tended to amuse her, though she’d made no effort to study what they might mean or even if any other people experienced them. She felt her libido calm, but it was like a dammed river, just waiting for an opportunity to burst forth again.

 

Solas offered his hand, and brought her to her feet when she took it. She had no more clothes on than she had before, and suddenly a thought occurred to her.

 

“Solas… vhenan, I’ve been very selfish.”

 

He quirked an eyebrow at her. “Oh?”

 

“I…” Ellana swallowed and tried again, looking him in the eye. She pursed her lips when she saw his amused expression. "Don’t _laugh_ at me, Solas. I only mean that I should… return the courtesy.”

 

Solas’s expression softened, and he gathered her into an embrace. The texture of his clothing on her naked skin was stimulating despite the effects of the potion and she fleetingly worried that she would accidentally break through the magic damming her ardor. “It is not a debt that needs to be repaid, ma vhenan. Besides,” he tilted her chin up to look at him with the touch of one long finger, “when you are ready, and I am ready, I _will_ take you.”

 

Her breath caught, and he lowered his mouth to a spot on her throat, sucking and biting as she whimpered his name. She had nearly resolved to spend the entire day in bed, potion or no potion, when he drew away and pun her around to face her wardrobe. “Now,” he said, sounding normal and unaffected by his action except for his slightly lowered timbre, “You must dress, and you must emerge, lest the members of the inquisition think I’m keeping you captive.”

 

Ellana arched, pressing her backside to his hips. “And why shouldn’t you keep me captive?” she asked sweetly.

 

His voice was a warning growl. “Ellana…”

 

“Yes…?”

 

He gripped her hips and ground roughly against her, making her gasp and go pliant in his hold. Pressing his cheek to her hair, he whispered into her ear, “I _will_ take you vhenan, as I have said.” He followed this with a string of fluent, fluid Elvhen, his voice low and rough and _promising_. “Now, vhenan—dress.”

 

Ellana pressed a hand to her fluttering heart and watched him as he descended the stairs to the main hall, feeling vaguely that she felt a little like one of the heroines in one of Varric’s stories—yet reading those stories had never made her feel like _this_.

 

-*-

 

Ellana shifted her weight, frowning at the door to her war room. Josephine hadn’t been at her desk or the main hall and it was only a little under two hours to noon. If Josie wasn’t at her desk, or schmoozing with nobles in the main hall, then she was in the war room. And if Josie was in the war room, Leliana and Cullen were in the war room. And if all three of her advisors were in the war room, then _how long had they been waiting there while she dallied with Solas and what was she going to tell them, oh Creators…_

 

She squared her shoulders. However long they had been waiting, the solution was not to keep them waiting even longer. She walked in, and endeavored to appear no different than her usual self.

 

“Inquisitor.” Cullen greeted.

 

“We have been waiting some time.” Leliana added.

 

“But not too long, and there are many tasks we can accomplish on our own,” Josephine noted, always the diplomat. “Nonetheless, Inquisitor, we were wondering what kept you. Are you well?”

 

 _So they couldn’t hear me from down here…good to know._ “I was a bit ill,” _That’s one way of putting it_ “but Solas knew a remedy, and I feel a great deal better now.” _Understatement_.

 

Leliana’s eyes narrowed, reminding Ellana of a hawk zeroing in on prey. “Are you sure? If it was an attempt at poison then we need to reevaluate our security measures.”

 

Josephine looked worriedly at Leliana. “We have had quite an influx of people since the ball, both those looking to join the Inquisition and people simply wanting to see or meet the Herald and Inquisitor herself.”

 

Cullen frowned down at the map of Southern Thedas, though he was obviously looking straight through it. “There is only one real way in or out of Skyhold, and my guards have noted no suspicious comings or goings, but we simply don’t have the manpower to search every sack and bale and barrel that enters or exits the castle.”

 

“That is not the way to protect the Inquisitor form assassins in the first place,” Leliana retorted. “It is not a matter of searching sacks and bales, but of watching people and investigating the suspicious ones.”

 

“Our sudden and intensely successful rise to political prominence will attract enemies, of course,” Josephine mused, “but an assassination attempt so quickly? It does not seem Corypheus’ style, to have the Inquisitor quietly assassinated.”

 

“True,” Cullen agreed. “He’s never _quietly_ done anything, as far as we can tell.

 

Ellana watched, bemused, as her advisors continued to consider different ways that an assassin might have snuck into Skyhold, and different methods such a person might use to kill her, as well as the motivations of the people who would hire such a person. It was absolutely getting out of hand, but it was also edifying. And a bit funny. Suddenly, she had an idea.

 

“You know what?” she said, stopping the chatter as all three turned their attention to her, “I’ll bet it’s one of the nobles who were gathered around Cullen in Halamshiral.”

 

“Around me?” Cullen looked nonplussed. “But why?”

 

“Cullen,” Ellana purred, “didn’t you know? They were mad for you. How many proposals have we fielded since the ball, Leliana?”

 

Leliana smiled. “Thirty-two.”

 

“Thirty-two proposals! I would bet good coin that they imagine I am a threat and want to get rid of me to get to you.” Cullen looked increasingly horrified, and took a half step away from the war table, away from her. Ellana put on her best pleading face. “Oh, Cullen! You must make a public announcement about our relationship!”

 

“Our…?” Cullen echoed faintly.

 

“Oh, please, Cullen. Won’t you, won’t you please, to save my _life_?” Ellana clasped her hands in front of her chest and made her eyes watery, to try to complete the image.

 

Josephine broke. “Ah, Inquisitor…!” she giggled. “Do show the Commander some mercy!”

 

Ellana saw no point in maintaining the show, and began giggling herself. Cullen, already blushing, turned redder with ire. “Mercy…? You were having me on! Inquisitor, this is serious!”

 

Ellana pressed her lips together to stop laughing, and nodded. “It certainly would be, if there _had_ been an assassination attempt. But it is simply a rare elvish ailment, I assure you.

 

Trying not to let her mirth show (and failing miserably) Leliana nodded. “As you say, Inquisitor. Nonetheless, I will review our security measures.”

 

“As will I.” Cullen stated firmly, obviously unhappy about her teasing.

 

“If you both feel you must,” Ellana allowed.

 

Cullen cleared his throat and stood straighter, seeming for the world as if he was pretending the preceding few minutes had not happened. “Excellent. To work?”

 

-*-

 

After the meeting, Ellana was quite satisfied with herself. She was certainly going to be busy over the next long stretch—things to do and investigate in the Emerald Graves, the Hissing Wastes, the Exalted Plains, Crestwood and Emprise Du Lion, but she had successfully deflected her advisor’s concerns, and she had not once felt even the need to reign herself in around Cullen. She still noticed that he was a handsome man—one would have to be quite blind not to see _that_ —but she hadn’t had a repeat of her inappropriate fantasies from the days before. She felt safer, able to trust herself again. More than half of her inner circle were men; it would be quite a problem if she couldn’t trust herself to be around any of them. Cassandra, Sera, and Vivienne were certainly capable, but sometimes she preferred the particular skill sets of her male companions—and no one could cut through a band of enemies like Bull.

 

It was not too late in the day, perhaps three hours past noon, judging by a quick glance at the sky. She decided to make a detour for Herald’s Rest and have a drink with the Iron Bull. As she passed the fireplace in the main hall, and Varric, she glanced at the door to the rotunda. Solas was in there, surely…. But by the reaction she had just thinking his name, if she wanted to get anything else done today, she needed to avoid him for now.

 

Ellana slipped into the tavern and enjoyed the few moments when no one was noticing or deferring to her. She read the notices on the wall, chuckling to herself over the fact that Varric (and his Bianca) were barred from the archery competition, then made her way over to where Iron Bull was sitting, just off to the side of the Bull’s Chargers who were…playing a card game that involved small fireworks? She shook her head and decided that she only had to deal with it if there was actually a fire.

 

She settled herself down next to Bull’s customary seat. Catching sight of her expression, the huge man chuckled. “Don’t worry, Boss,” he rumbled, “we’ve got a standing arrangement with the innkeeper to pay for any damages, however bad it gets.”

 

Ellana sighed. “I feel like now I should worry about whatever you did that prompted that kind of arrangement.”

 

Bull’s boisterous laugh boomed around her. “Now _that_ is a good story… uh, but, never mind. Don’t worry, Boss, it’s all taken care of.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, why’d you stop by?”

 

Ellana leaned forward and laced her fingers together loosely. “I know you’re not a big fan of the sand, but I need to investigate some reports of Venatori activity in the Hissing Wastes.” She thought she heard him sniff the air, and passed it off as an expression of distaste for the vast, empty desert. “I know, I know, but there’s a pretty good chance we’ll find a dragon, and—Bull?” He was definitely leaning closer and breathing more deeply than usual. Ellana shifted uncomfortably. “What is it?”

 

“Not sure,” Bull murmured, “but… you…”

 

Ellana felt her senses prickle to attention several seconds before she felt the warmth at her side. She looked up, shocked to see Solas in the Herald’s Rest. She was certain that she’d never seen him in a tavern, in Skyhold or Haven. She tried to catch his eye, but he was looking over her, staring Bull down. Solas laid a hand proprietarily on the juncture of her neck and shoulder, and her eyes fell closed at the contact. It felt like his skin was _thrumming_ against hers, though her more rational mind knew that nothing of the sort was happening. Still, she was glad that the contact was limited, or she might’ve embarrassed herself with her reaction.

 

“The Iron Bull,” Solas said, his tone frigid.

 

“Solas,” Bull greeted tersely, returning to a normal posture in his chair, watching both of the elves in front of him carefully.

 

Ellana straightened and glanced between them, feeling like she needed to defuse… _whatever_ was happening. She titled her head back to look up at Solas. “I was just asking Bull if he’d be in my party when we go to the Hissing Wastes. I—mmph!”

 

Solas bent over and covered her mouth with his, cradling her face in his hands. He lingered, and slowly pulled away, looking smugly down at her dazed expression. “It is not a bad idea.”

 

“I… yes. Mm.” Dazed as she was, she still caught the strangely challenging look Solas sent towards the Iron Bull.

 

“So… Bull. Will you be accompanying us?” Solas asked politely.

 

 _Us_? Ellana thought.

 

“Yeah,” Bull grunted.

 

“Um, good. Thank you.” Ellana said. Solas rubbed his thumb over the back of her neck and she cleared her throat suddenly. “Bull, will you excuse me?”

 

“Not a problem, Boss. Later.”

 

Solas followed her as she beat a hasty retreat to the back of the tavern. She glanced around, making sure that Cassandra wasn’t in her usual reading and practice spot, then lead Solas toward the alcove between the tavern and battlements. When they were sufficiently out of sight, she turned to face him, her back to the battlements. Releasing a frustrated puff of air, she looked off to the side, putting him in the periphery of her vision and rubbing at her temples.

 

“What in Thedas was _that_? I don’t mind you in the tavern, of _course_ I don’t mind, I just mean I've never seen you there, but the looks you and Bull were trading… what in all creation was going on there?”

 

Solas used the back of two fingers to turn her face fully toward him again. “He could sense you.” He said simply. “I let him know that you are mine.”

 

She wanted to melt into his light touch, but held firm. “Solas, Bull would never—“

 

“Why not?”

 

Ellana opened her mouth, then closed it. She had never enumerated the exact reason _why_ Bull would never, but simply assumed that he wouldn’t because he had never shown any interest. Still, whatever interest he did or did not show, the answer was even simpler than that. “Because I would not.”

 

Solas stepped closer, putting his hands on either side of her hips and smiling. “A good answer.”

 

“I’m not trying to pass some kind of—ah…” she lost the thread of her thought entirely as he pressed a thigh between hers. “Oh… Solas…”

 

“Yes, vhenan?” he purred, nuzzling and nudging her until she tilted her head away, exposing her jaw and ear to his attentions.

 

“Is… is the potion wearing off?”

 

He chuckled warmly, pressing his thigh more firmly against her, sucking hard and biting the spot where her ear met her jaw. “No.”

 

She whimpered and ground against his thigh. Solas lingered at that one spot, his other hand stroking over her jaw and ear on the other side, occasionally holding her in place.

 

She felt like she was floating. The longer she spent pressed between him and the wall, the more her body felt like it was humming. She arched into him, winding her arms around his shoulders, and slid her fingernails over the skin of his scalp, relishing his shiver. Between the bushes and the position of the buildings, it was almost impossible for anyone to see them here. Feeling bolder, and wanting to encourage Solas’ sudden enthusiasm for displays of affection, Ellana kissed and nipped what she could reach while he was busy at her ear—namely, his ear.

 

He grunted and pressed her into the wall, before stepping back. “If I linger much longer, I may have you here.”

 

Ellana bit her lip and tried to remember why there would be a problem with that. _Public. Uncomfortable. Reputation of the Inquisition_. She reminded herself that these were valid and important reasons. She squirmed, wondering how many smalls she was going to go through before all this was done.

 

Solas cradled her face in his hands and threaded his finger into her hair, drawing them down, curving his fingers so that his blunt nails ran over her scalp in an echo of her gesture just earlier. Ellana shivered and closed her eyes, sighing softly.

 

“I will make arrangements for us for the next two weeks,” Solas murmured. “It should not take long, and I will see you tonight at dinner in the main hall—yes?” Ellana nodded and Solas ran his fingers through her hair again. “The potion’s effects last for twelve hours. I put the recipe and another vial in your bedchamber, but I would like you to go without tonight. I will come to you.”

 

Ellana moaned at his words and tilted her head up for a kiss which he happily indulged, growing rougher as it went on. She sucked on his lip and bit his tongue, scratching the base of his skull. “ _Temptress_ ,” he growled, biting her lip until he drew just a little blood, crushing his lips to hers as the coppery taste faded.

 

Ellana heard the crush of grass and the thwack of a sword hitting a dummy, indicating that someone was using the training grounds. _Just around the corner from where I’m ready to climb Solas like a tree_.

 

Her instinct was to jump apart, but she was caught between the stone wall and Solas. He seemed content to take his time drawing away from the kiss, and enjoyed her flushed face, running his thumb over her lower lip, before finally stepping away. “That will be Cassandra, no doubt.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Tel’telsila, vhenan. I will see you again at dinner.” He walked out and she heard Cassandra greet him distractedly before she heard another quick series of thwacks and thumps.

 

Dithering, Ellana wondered how long she ought to wait before emerging herself, or if she should try to sneak along the wall and make it look like she was coming from the steps to the battlements rather than the alcove behind the tavern. Finally she decided to just leave. She was the Inquisitor, she wasn’t going to hide behind a building all afternoon.

 

When she came out, Cassandra noticed her almost immediately. Cassandra’s eyebrows rose and she smiled slightly, but beyond that made no comment. “Inquisitor,” she nodded.

 

“Cassandra,” Ellana returned, walking to the office of the quartermaster. _That settles that, I suppose_. By dinner, she was sure that every one of her companions would know. A little smile played on her lips.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary of Elvhen Phrases:
> 
> Vhenan – heart  
> Atish – calm, peace, peaceful; also "Calm down"  
> Ir ina’lan’ehn – [You are] so very beautiful  
> Gen’av’ahna sul em – Beg for me  
> Vin – yes, affirmative  
> Itha fra em - Look at me  
> Ar am mar – I am yours  
> Tel’telsila – Don’t worry
> 
>  
> 
> Not at all pleased with this one, really. I feel like after the smut ended it got awkward and the writing deteriorated. Isn't that supposed to go the other way round? I am considering taking this down and rewriting it--after I give it another once over during the light of day.  
> EDIT: I guess that was just my it's-5am-and-I've-been-staring-at-this-thing-for-too-long impression. If the characterizations seem fine to the readers, I guess it's okay. Thanks for the feedback!


	3. Promise

 

Ellana made the rounds of Skyhold, feeling unusually content. The potion was allowing her to behave normally around the castle—more than that, she didn’t feel that she was having to exert any special effort to control herself. She considered returning to the inn to check on Sera, but didn’t want to run into Bull again so soon. She wondered if Solas had been correct, if Bull had sensed her Season, as Solas called it. Part of her was curious exactly what kind of effect she would have on men. Aside from Bull, she hadn’t noticed any more or different attention coming her way that what she usually got being the Inquisitor.

 

Pausing in the stables, idly stroking the neck of her hart, she considered the events of the last day. The memories of her time with Solas made her flush with arousal, but she pushed it down and carefully remembered what he’d told her she could expect from her season.

 

Recurrence every few years, perhaps three weeks from its faintest beginnings to complete resolution, with a “peak” of about ten days in the middle. To cope, she could imbibe a potion twice a day, seclude herself and meditate, or give herself over to a lover.

 

The third option, and what it had so far entailed, made her shiver with pleasure. She licked her lips and shuffled, taking her hands away from the hart and carefully collecting her thoughts. _Questions. Questions. What don’t I know_?

 

 _I already felt that I might jump the men around me yesterday, and it would probably be worse today if not for the potions. So, I need to know just what I will be like during my peak_. She hadn’t even been tempted to mount Bull—she chuckled to herself at her poor pun—but she could attribute that to the calming effects of the potion. What might she end up doing during her peak? Would she set up a pole in the courtyard and invite any and all to take her as they might? She surprised herself with the lack of repulsion or shame that accompanied that thought. _Oh, dear._

 

Well, that was an easy enough choice. The night before she had decided that she needed to seclude herself rather than risk running around Skyhold wanton. The only difference her reaction to the supposedly absurd scenario in her head made was that now she’d seclude herself with Solas. She’d have to make the appropriate arrangements.

 

That made her other questions less pressing. It was less important how effective the potion would be during her peak if she was not in Skyhold to make a fool of herself to begin with. How often she might need Solas during her peak was also immaterial, if they had all the time alone together they might need or want.

 

Of course, she needed to run all of this by Solas. She couldn’t simply assume that he was free to abscond with her until this thing was done.

 

-*-

 

Solas could feel her approach. As she got closer, he became faintly aware of the complex tangle of her emotions, lapping at the edges of his consciousness like a whisper too faint to discern words, or an image out of focus in the periphery of vision. She had accomplished a remarkably sound bonding, considering it had been erected by accident in the throes of orgasm. Nothing about her mental state made him think that she was aware of it yet.

 

The Season lurked in the background of the impression, a haze that vaguely colored everything else, held in check by the potion. Wound around that there was—arousal?

 

Suddenly he could smell her.

 

It was weak, but grew stronger as she came nearer, _better_ , musky and inviting, stimulating and _his_. He did not think that the potion had dulled her scent in the slightest; it could only be better if she was actively aroused. He loved suffusing himself in her, the way she enveloped his senses when he was with her. He could hardly wait to have her in her room again, writing beneath him, begging…

 

 _Control_.

 

“Inquisitor,” he greeted as she came into sight and approached him on his couch, “what can I do for you?” She flushed, and he was sure she was remembering what he had already done for her.

 

Ellana cleared her throat and squared her shoulders, obviously forcing herself to remain professional. “I… have considered what effects this Season might have,” she murmured, quietly enough that those in the library could not hear. “I think it would be prudent to at least have some secluded cabin _prepared_ , in case I do need to leave for the duration. I was hoping you’d accompany me, both to…whatever place, and to speak to my advisors. When I tell them that I am ill and that it is uniquely Elvhen and that you are…tending to me, they will want to speak with you, I think.”

 

“Do the humans not know about the Season?”

 

“The _Elvhen_ barely know about the season.” Ellana worried her lip with her teeth, and sighed. “I would tell them. I trust my advisors—well, not Morrigan, I don’t know her yet. But I trust Cullen, Leliana, and Josephine without reserve. Only…”

 

“You cannot trust everyone that might end up privy to the information once you told those three.” Solas nodded. “And humans do not have a sterling history when it comes to _avoiding_ abuses against the Elvhen. If they knew about this…yes, I see.”

 

“Exactly.” She swallowed and he indulged herself by watching the movement of her throat, imagining— “Are… are you free? I mean, if I do need to secret myself away in some cabin somewhere, will you…?”

 

His Inquisitor, all to himself, at his mercy and he at hers, their sole duty to attend to the fever of her desires until the Season fades. Alone, where he could wake her with his mouth, and feed her with one hand over her sweet mound, and… he tamped down his thoughts with a ruthless efficiency. “Yes, vhenan.” It came out as more of a low growl than he had intended, but he did not regret that in the slightest.

 

Ellana flushed, and stared at him, her mouth slightly open. He reached for the tendril of her thoughts and found that she was growing aroused, probably preoccupied with her own images of how exactly they would pass time were they to be sequestered in a cabin together. He could smell her stronger, thicker now, and he wanted to grip her where she stood over him and bend her over his desk, taking time worshipping the skin of her back and her backside, driving her to the brink and letting her linger there. Let those in the library see, let them all see, she was his and only he could bring her such pleasures, make her mewling and pliant, and he would—

 

Solas stood and took the Inquisitor gently by the elbow. “Better, probably, if we tell your advisors sooner than later.”

 

“Ah,” she breathed, “yes. Yes, you’re right.”

 

-*-

 

Less than a half hour later, everyone was gathered.

 

Solas stood calmly with the Inquisitor in Ambassador Montilyet’s office off of the Skyhold main hall, in front of the Inquisitor’s three trusted advisors—and Morrigan. Josephine looked concerned and distracted, and from what the Inquisitor had told him of her, she was likely concerned about the Inquisitor and distracted by a frantic reorganization of various schedules and meetings in her mind. Cullen was frowning at him and sizing him up as one might an opponent for a fight. Solas seemed to be taking care not to let his amusement show. The man was an impressive military commander, and Ellana knew him to be a kind man in private, but he also was very much the sort whose tool of choice was a hammer, and to whom everything looked like a nail—she was sure Solas had picked up on that. Leliana was focused intensely on watching Solas, as though trying to detect some deceit in his mien, while Morrigan was simply openly disbelieving.

 

“From what I hear tell of this morning’s meeting, you said that you were well enough.” Morrigan groused.

 

“Yes,” Ellana said, “because that was my understanding of the situation. However, things may…worsen, and in that case I will need to have a secluded location prepared.” She looked apologetically at Josephine. “I _am_ sorry for the trouble this must put you through, but it is much safer to rearrange my upcoming meeting and appointments than to suddenly not show.”

 

“It is true that cancellation without warning would be more detrimental to the position of the Inquisiton,” Josephine acknowledged, “but it is _also_ true that this does not pose any real difficulty. Most nobles and dignitaries prefer to travel at a much more leisurely pace than yourself, Inquisitor, and only three were expected in the next two weeks.”

 

“Everyone is still reacting to your great success in Orlais,” Leliana smiled. “They are regrouping and deciding how they will respond to this new and impressive Inquisitor, and that has given us time. There may be no better opportunity than this for a…reprieve.”

 

“Speaking of reprieves, how long do we intend to let the Grand Duchess Florianne lie in our dungeon?”

 

Ellana considered Cullen’s question. “I will judge her when this is done with. She will suffer no extraordinary harm, spending a fortnight there. I have visited the dungeons, and though they are not _comfortable_ quarters, it is far from inhumane for her to remain there. Besides, I want to take time to consider what we will do with her, rather than just reacting to the fact that she tried to kill me.”

 

Cullen nodded, Leliana observed, and Josephine made what seemed to be hurried and copious notes on her ever-present writing pad. Morrigan was not satisfied.

 

“What _is_ this mysterious elven ailment? Why is Solas the sole person capable of guiding you through it? Surely the elves have other healers,”

 

“None here.” Solas noted.

 

“—and even if they do not, if you are so ill that you cannot lead the Inquisition—“

 

“I _may_ ,” Ellana began, pausing to increase the impact of her emphasis, “need to take a _short_ time away from the Inquisition.” She glanced at Cullen, remembering the profound trust he had placed in her by telling her about his choice to stop taking lyrium, and the effects of withdrawal he was dealing with. He was likely drawing the same parallels even as they spoke. “I would _never_ put the Inquisition at risk, or neglect my obligations for my personal gain or convenience.”

 

Cullen nodded at her and turned slightly to Morrigan. “If her ability to perform her duty were compromised, I am certain that the Inquisitor would not hide it from us.”

 

Solas watched the looks exchanged between her and Cullen with slightly narrowed eyes, but said nothing.

 

Morrigan relented, unhappy. “If you say so, Inquisitor. Yet it is susp—odd, that you will tell us nothing of the _nature_ of this rare sickness.

 

Leliana sighed. “Morrigan, please.”

 

Ellana looked again at Cullen. She did not want him to think that she did not trust him as much as he had trusted her, that she was withholding information out of a lack of confidence in his discretion or their friendship. “I want to tell you,” she said softly, glancing among her other advisors so that did not seem to be speaking so directly to Cullen, “but I cannot. It is a sacred secret among the People.”

 

“A disease?” Morrigan scoffed. “Sacred?”

 

“Yes.” Solas stated firmly, frowning at the witch.

 

“Uthenera would probably be considered a disease by human standards, yet it is sacred.” Ellana challenged.

 

“Yet it is not secret. Nor do the elves enter uthenera anymore”

 

“I cannot give you another _secret_ sacred thing as an example of what the Dalish revere or keep among the People.”

 

“She does have a point,” Josephine noted.

 

“But, perhaps Morrigan does as well,” Leliana said, ignoring the snide “Hoe _gracious_ of you” from Morrigan. “More than most I understand limitations on what information you may be able to share, but is there anything you _can_ tell us, Inquisitor?”

 

Ellana considered briefly, looking at nothing in particular, then sighed. “It is not contagious. It is not dangerous…” she glanced at Solas, who nodded, “…with treatment. It will be resolved in…”

 

“Another fortnight or so.” Solas supplied.

 

Ellana nodded. “Yes. But the severity… may increase. If…” she shook her head, changing what she decided to say. “I may need to spend time away from the Inquisition until I am returned to normal. I cannot tell you more.”

 

Morrigan was still frowning. “This is not some excuse to spend time indulging an infatuation?” she was met with a chorus of disbelief and Solas’ scowl. “It is a necessary question.”

 

“Solas is one of the Inquisitor’s most trusted companions, but they are not…” Cullen trailed off, looking between them. “Or…?”

 

Ellana flushed, resisting becoming angry. “We are involved, but I have already said I would not risk or neglect the Inquisition for my personal convenience! I think that inventing an illness in order to spend more time with a lover would qualify as neglecting my duties for convenience. You do not know me yet, Morrigan, but the rest of you know both myself and Solas. Even were I given to reckless dalliances, and I hate to think that you imagine me to be so immature and irresponsible, do you think _he_ is?”

 

Morrigan opened her mouth, but Josephine stepped forward just slightly, speaking before Morrigan had a chance to offend Ellana further. “Our apologies, Inquisitor. I am sure that Morrigan did not truly intend to say that you were deceiving us in order to indulge yourself.”

 

Morrigan bristled, but remained silent.

 

Ellana frowned at her, then carefully rearranged her features into a more neutral expression. “We will come to know each other better, Morrigan, and hopefully to have a mutual trust. I assure you that I am not and would not lie to you or my other advisors. I am not going to go away with Solas for some kind of… romantic vacation.”

 

Morrigan pursed her lips, then sighed and spread her arms in a gesture of acceptance. “I am… sorry, Inquisitor. I have perhaps spent too much time among Orlesian nobles who would, at the expense of their obligations, indulge in exactly such pleasures. It was unjust of me to assume that you are among their like.”

 

The Inquisitor smiled to acknowledge the truce, then smirked. “It’s understandable. I got so caught up in the Great Game, I very nearly agreed to have several pairs of those ridiculous shoes made for myself.”

 

Morrigan returned her slight smile as Leliana insisted, “But the shoes are wonderful! Inquisitor, why did you not?”

 

“Leliana, one of the designs was for a pair made from jewels and _glass_.” The others stood perplexed as Josephine and Leliana sighed happily, apparently quite taken with the idea. Ellana shook her head. _I may never understand Orlesian fashion_. “Never mind. Leliana, can you find and prepare a cabin or other secluded place, suitable to be lived in for two weeks, within the next day or so, just in case?”

 

“Absolutely, Inquisitor. I already have a place in mind.”

 

“Excellent. Cullen… I do not think it will be necessary to _deceive_ the people of the Inquisition, but please do what you can to manage the rumors. If necessary, tell them that I am attending to something extremely Dalish and mysterious.”

 

Cullens lips quirked briefly into a smile. “As you say, Inquisitor.”

 

“And, Josephine… thank you again for managing my schedule. I am glad that it will be relatively easy for you to manage the nobility on this.”

 

“It is not a problem, Inquisitor.”

 

“Right. I will give you what notice I can, should I need to leave.” Ellana paused, shifted her weight. “Or, very possibly, Solas will.” She glanced at him for confirmation, and he nodded to her. She posed her usual question to her advisors. “Is there anything I need to know?”

 

Leliana shook her head slightly. “Nothing new since the morning, Inquisitor.”

 

“Good. Then I will see you all later.” She turned and walked out, Solas following calmly behind her.

 

-*-

 

Ellana meandered until she made her way through the garden, up the stairs opposite the doorway to the main hall, and onto the wall walk between the mage tower and the tall, sheer wall that ultimately enclosed her quarters. She had never seen anyone else on this particular stretch of wall.

 

“I suppose,” she murmured to Solas, “they didn’t have as many questions for you as I thought they might. I apologize if I wasted you time.”

 

“They respect your authority and decisions—except Morrigan, perhaps. I doubt that my presence did anything to help you when it came to speaking with her.”

 

Ellana shrugged easily. “I’ve known people like her before. She will not be so difficult to deal with, I think.”

 

“Do you know many witches of the wilds?”

 

“No.” She smiled and leaned out over the crenelation, folding her arms on one of the merlons for support. “But I may have some experience with people who feel slighted by the world, their knowledge underappreciated, and who have had to do for themselves because they cannot trust or rely on the people around them.”

 

“You aren’t talking about me?”

 

Ellana laughed. “No.” She looked down, down, down—it always seemed to astonish her just how high Skyhold was. She was often glad that she had no fear of heights. “I was like that, when I was younger. I was convinced… ah, never mind.”

 

Solas came to lean beside her, pressing his shoulder against hers. “Tell me.”

 

Scoffing at herself, Ellana continued. “I always believed I knew better, and it frustrated me that no one agreed. I was certain that I had an innately superior understanding of magic than the Keeper and the First we had then. I have been told all of my life that Dalish magic and human magic are fundamentally different, but no one was ever specific about why—all I ever got was a lot of metaphors about being closer to nature and our gods being true gods. I didn’t think that was an explanation.”

 

“Yet, you were right.”

 

“About _that_ … I suppose so. But I was wrong about other things.” She shook her head, closing her eyes. “It’s not important.”

 

“The specifics may not be,” Solas mused, “but it is a flexible and intelligent mind that can admit mistakes and adapt.” He looked at her with such tenderness that her breath caught. “Sometimes, very rarely, learning that you’re wrong is a most pleasurable experience.”

 

A heartbeat passed, then Ellana chuckled softly and teased him, “Yes, hahren.”

 

He gave her an arch look, a smile playing around his lips. “Well, I _am_ your hahren.”

 

“How do you know? I’ve never told you my age.”

 

“I am older.”

 

“You’re so sure. Old enough for me to call you ‘hahren’?”

 

“Call me vhenan.”

 

She felt him shift, and his arm snaked around her waist, pulling her close in a light side-on embrace for a moment, before his hand began skimming up and down her back in a soft caress. She hummed and leaned against him, enjoying the affection and how comfortable she felt with him. Skyhold was cold, and it was autumn, and the heat of his hand on her back was soothing in and of itself. When Solas noticed her shivering, he moved behind her, leaned over her, and folded his arms around her, resting his elbows next to hers on the walls. She felt him press his cheek to her hair, and moved her hand to link their fingers together. When she did, he rested his chin on her shoulder, and she let herself fall into a contented daze as the sunset tinted the mountains around the castle.

 

Eventually, when the sky was still bright but the sun had sunk behind the mountains, leaving the land in shadow, Solas straightened. He brought her with him, and settled his arms loosely around her waist. She was all but purring when he nuzzled behind her ear. “Emma lath,” he sighed. Ellana’s breath caught and she moved her hand up to cup his cheek, content to just stay like this.

 

“We should go to dinner.” Solas murmured as the sky darkened in earnest. He turned to kiss her palm. “They will be wondering where you are.” He unwound himself from around her and turned.

 

“Solas,” Ellana said, spinning around to face him. “Ar am mar, Solas.” As before, an electric thrill spread through her at the words, and she saw him shiver as well.

 

He looked at her for a long while, his expression unreadable. Beginning to get nervous, Ellana shifted her weight.

 

“Ame mar,” He said softly.

 

Ellana blushed. “...my Elvhen is not as practiced as yours. I apologize for my mistake.”

 

“You did not make any mistake, vhenan.” Solas moved close again, tilted her chin up to kiss her, but did not close the final distance. His breath was warm on her lips when he spoke. “I made a statement. I am yours. You made a vow.” He paused, then brushed his lips against hers, feather-light. “So shall I. Ar dir’vhen’an ma’aman, emma lath. Ane ara las.”

 

This time there was no way Ellana could mistake the tingle on her skin for anything but magic. She gasped and Solas’s mouth was over hers, hungry, probing. Her hands gripped the cloth over his chest then slid up. Her arms curled around his neck, and she pulled herself closer. _More. More._

 

She felt, like an afterthought or a whisper heard down a long corridor, and answering pulse of desire. She thought she might be imagining it but as her attention kept flicking to it, it strengthened, clarified. It was clearer, closer— _Solas_?

 

Solas released her mouth and kissed along her jaw to the mark that he’d made under her ear earlier in the day. “Vin, vhenan. Ar’hartha. Hear me.”

 

Ellana ran her thumbs along his jaw and the edges of his ears, and felt that foreign desire surge, resonating with and augmenting her own, just before he pulled gently away, one hand lingering on her waist, thumb stroking just under her ribs. Her sense of the foreign desire faded, like a loud sound receding into the distance, then quieted completely. She looked at Solas, her eyes wide and eager, and he smiled slightly. “If we continue at this rate, we will not eat.”

 

“Alright.” Ellana answered readily. That made him chuckle.

 

“No. We should eat.”

 

She followed as he turned and made his way to the main hall. She would not forget to ask him about the vow he’d made—or the one _she’d_ made, for that matter. Right at that moment, however, she felt treasured, and less alone than she could recall ever having felt.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvhen Terms:
> 
> Hahren – elder, more experienced person (also, leader of an Alienage)  
> Emma lath – My love  
> Ar am mar (vs) Ame mar – see note (*)  
> Dir’vhen’an – promise, oath  
> Ma’aman – I protect you (yes, it’s conjugated)  
> Ara – my**  
> Las – hope (also ambition and anticipation)  
> Ar dir’vhen’an ma’aman, emma lath. Ane ara las. – I promise to protect you, my love. You are my hope.
> 
>  
> 
> *I have Solas say that she made a vow rather than a statement because I think that’s a better interpretation of the phrase “ar am mar”. “Ame” is supposed to mean “I am” (yes, it is stupidly close to “ane” which is “you are), while “mar” means “yours”. So, that’s a fairly simple sentence. “Am” (as in “ar am mar”) seems to be able to translate as English “am”, but also as “keep”, “sheath/e”, “protect” (unconjugated/imperative), and “take freely”—possibly also in unconjugated/imperative form, though I couldn’t find confirmation for that. So, in my head-canon (and I’m writing, so my head-canon wins, nyah-nyah!), “ar am mar”, considering the other meanings, is like saying “take me freely and protect me, I am yours”. Elvish is all flexible and ridiculous and connotative, so that’s probably not a ridiculous translation—and when you think about it, it’s less of a stretch than “let’s go to bed” turning into “let’s have sex”. Also, I’m using the excuse that Ellana’s skill with Elvhen is just… just terrible. She knows more than a city elf would, but it still comes down to a few words and phrases, not a language for daily use. This does mean putting more work into Solas’ words, since he is absolutely fluent in Elvhen (and using it to say all manner of sneaky, dirty things to Ellana, the sexy bastard) but that’s okay. I’m actually enjoying playing with the elvish language, frustrating as it can be.
> 
> **This seems to be a simple possessive, the example in the translator is “my book”. The impression I get looking through the other translated texts and songs is that “emma” is used for something that you have but also share, or something maybe which is given mutually. Thoughts?  
> I know, I know. I’m probably the only one interested in my fictional language nerd skills, but still.
> 
>  
> 
> Finally, chapter notes:
> 
> I rewrote this twice. That is why it is later than I thought it would be, that it why it is longer—except not any more, because I split the second half into chapter 4. I planned to end after I got to eight pages or so on my word processor, but then I was like, “Each of these chapters is covering a few hours. She’s going to be in heat for two weeks. At this rate the damn thing’ll end up longer than War and Peace”. So, I decided to do two things. I will end the chapters at a pause that seems natural for the narrative, and I will try to pick up the narrative pace. A bit. Probably.
> 
> …the key word here is “try”.


	4. Heat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many and sincere thanks to my wonderful beta, Storm! I shamelessly use your reactions to tell how well I've written things. ~.^

The hall was more filled with people than she could recall seeing it. Orlesian nobles jostled for her attention when they noticed her, completely ignoring Solas, who slipped off in the press of admirers. Ellana spared a moment to be deeply grateful that her desire was kept in check by the potion, then attended to The Game. She bore their attention, compliments, backhanded compliments, propositions both personal and political, and finally made her excuses and extracted herself. She found Josephine near the front of the hall, and told her about the vague allusions she’d made to attending parties, having deeper conversations with this or that person, and procuring various things for Skyhold. When Josephine heard the Inquisitor’s stomach rumble, she smiled and shooed her towards one of the long tables where food was laid out.

 

Approaching one of the long tables, Ellana was surprised at how many of her companions were present. In fact, _all_ were present. It was normal to see Dorian, Vivienne, Varric, and Solas eating in the main hall or grabbing something to eat in the castle kitchens; they spent most of their time in and a near the keep. Iron Bull and Sera usually ate in the tavern, and Cassandra and Blackwall ate with the soldiers or alone, she was fairly sure. Cole, she knew, didn’t eat at all.

 

Solas rose from his seat in roughly the middle of the table and pulled out the adjacent one for her. He drew a hand over her shoulder as she sat down before seating himself.

 

“So…” Ellana began. “This is interesting. What’s the occasion?”

 

Sera was sniggering at her. Cole murmured with his usual vague expression “She’s happy to only want what she wants, and he’s happy to be that for her. They’re not their selves anymore, but they’re not one person. It’s wonderful.”

 

“Whatever you say, kid.” Varric said indulgently. He was grinning at Ellana. That…couldn’t be good.

 

“What do you know, Varric?” she asked, eyes narrowed.

 

“Nothing, nothing! Only what Cassandra told me.” He smirked.

 

Ellana looked at the Seeker, who was blushing and avoiding her eyes. Sera started making disgustingly wet kissing sounds. At least, Ellana hoped that they were supposed to represent kissing. She sighed. “ _What_ , exactly, is it that you said, Cassandra?”

 

“I only—“

 

“Secret interludes behind tavern hedges, strange sounds coming from a shadowed spot, and then Chuckles and the Inquisitor, exiting separately, flushed and disheveled—“

 

“Varric!” Cassandra exclaimed.

 

“What, Seeker? Isn’t that what you said?”

 

“Not at all!”

 

“Hmm, I remember things differently.”

 

“Why is it suddenly plural?” Iron Bull asked. “I thought it only happened today.”

 

“Perhaps this is one instance of many, and the Seeker only knows of a few. Who would have thought that the famously reserved Fade expert would be so hot-blooded?” Dorian teased.

 

“Every race has hot blood, Dorian.” Solas retorted dryly.

 

“And so boringly literal,” Dorian added.

 

Cassandra’s face was redder by the moment. “I never said it happened more than once.”

 

Vivienne made a slight gesture, catching Ellana’s attention. “You have exactly nothing to be ashamed of, my dear. Indeed, whatever your choice of…partner, it would raise a good many more eyebrows if you had none at all.”

 

“Vivienne,” Ellana said, her tone warning, “I do not choose my ‘partner’ based on how others will regard me afterward.”

 

“Yet, my dear, there are a great many who regard your choices with great interest.”

 

Sera made a rude sound. “Who the fuck cares? It’s boring, what. Elf goes for elf, surprises no one. Except that you got it on behind the tavern, heh. Never would’ve thought _you’d_ let your trousers down in public.”

 

Solas did not reply. Blackwall hid his smile by raising a tankard to his lips. Vivienne looked at Sera with her usual polite disgust. “Then again, Inquisitor, there are much _worse_ options open to you.”

 

Ellana groaned. “Are all of you done?”

 

“Mostly, I guess,” Varric allowed. “You couldn’t really have expected anything else? Behind the _tavern_ , Inquisitor. Scandalous!”

 

“We—never mind.” Just below the table, she felt Solas’ hand on her thigh, a gentle caress that didn’t venture up. She moved her hand to cover his and gave a light squeeze of thanks. “Let’s eat—and Sera, if there’s anything wrong with the food, I will hold you personally responsible.”

 

“What? I didn’t do nothin’!” Sera scowled at the table, then grabbed a tart and dug into it with alarming speed.

 

Ellana shook her head then looked down with surprise as Solas replaced her empty plate with a full one. Honey-roasted duck, a section of mutton pie, seasoned mashed potatoes, salad of herbs and beets, slices of beer battered apples, all of it nearly falling off the plate. Her favorites. “Thank you, vhenan.”

 

“I think you have not eaten all day.” Solas said.

 

“Your fault, innit?” Sera teased around a full mouth. “Bet you put other things in her mouth, though.” She giggled.

 

“That’s enough, Sera!” Ellana exclaimed.

 

“Ugh, you truly do have an inexhaustible number of slovenly habits.” Vivienne scowled. Sera stuck her tongue out, and laughed when food fell out around it. “Ugh,” Vivienne repeated. “If you _will_ excuse me, Inquisitor.” She rose, nodded cordially, and disappeared among the dwindling crowd of visitors.

 

“Miss Priss ‘as got the right of it,” Sera said, standing and gathering an impressive amount of food into her arms. “You two aren’t being any fun. I’m going back to the tavern.”

 

Ellana watched her leave. “Is it wrong that I’m relieved?”

 

“Sera’s not all bad,” Blackwall defended.

 

Ellana didn’t dignify that with a response, instead beginning to eat. The others seemed content to follow suit. A few bites in, she paused. “Oh, and Cassandra?”

 

“…yes, Inquisitor?”

 

“You’re off the hook. You can breathe now.”

 

Cassandra sighed.

 

-*-

 

About an hour later, Solas accompanied her up the stairs to their room. When they crested the topmost landing, Ellana smiled.

 

“I asked your personal servants to prepare it,” Solas said, coming around her and taking her hand, gently tugging her to the full bath set up in the center of the room, surrounded by three tables with various Orlesian luxuries—petals and salts to go in the bath on one table, vibrantly colored, fragrant soaps on the next, and a bottle of something surely alcoholic accompanied by a small jar and a bowl of berries and cut fruit on the last table.

 

He stopped her in front of the bath and began undoing the fastenings of her top. She leaned up and kissed him as he continued to disrobe her. Finishing with opening her shirt, he pulled it down and back, temporarily trapping her arms and pulling her close against him. He bit her lips and her neck when she let her head drop back. He removed one hand from the cloth wound around her arms and stroked through her hair before gripping it more roughly, drawing her head further back and scraping his teeth over her throat. Her low moan thrilled him.

 

He turned her around and pulled the sleeves off of her arms, and folded the shirt neatly before laying it over the arm of the couch. He returned to Ellana, circling her, his fingers trailing the bottom edge of her breast bindings, before stopping behind her. His touch lingered at the clasp, before trailing down her spine. He watched her shiver with satisfaction.

 

“Solas…” she murmured.

 

He traced his finger up and down her spine again, spread his hands over the curve of her lower back. His small fingers dipped into her waistband. “Yes, vhenan?”

 

Ellana swallowed, breathing deeply. “I need to ask you… earlier, the vow you made, and the one you said I made…”

 

“Yes?” he pressed a kiss to the nape of her neck.

 

“…what does it mean? And I felt a magical surge, and I sensed…” she trailed off.

 

“Then you know what it meant, emma lath. Tell me what you felt.” He pressed his body flush to her back and began slowly undoing the laces of her trousers.

 

Ellana took a moment to collect herself. “I can sense what you’re feeling, I think,” she said softly, “when it’s strong.” With the knot of her laces undone, Solas began tugging the edges open, loop by loop. “When I heard your vow—I didn’t understand the words, but I _felt_ …treasured.”

 

Solas let her trousers sag around her hips and moved his hands to the clasp of her binding, deftly opening it and kissing the uncovered skin, letting the strip of cloth fall. “Yes,” he purred.

 

“…and loved…”

 

“Yes,” Solas moved lower, kissing her back just above the hem of her smalls and slipped them together with her trousers down to her knees.

 

“…and protected…”

 

Her kissed the back of her thighs and pushed her clothing down to her ankles, gently encouraging her to step out of it. When she was clear, he nipped at the back of her knee and growled, “Yes.” He stood and spun Ellana around, stroking his hands down her arms.

 

“We’re bonded,” she whispered.

 

“Vin.”

 

She hugged herself and looked down at her feet. “…I’m sorry.”

 

His eyes widened in surprise. “What?”

 

“After we kissed in the Fade… you told me you needed to think, and then suddenly you’re dealing with my Season, and then I did _this_ …” Ellana squeezed her eyes shut, her fingers digging into her arms.

 

Solas relaxed and laughed lightly, gently pulling her hands away from her arms. “Vhenan, the bonding could not have taken had I even been _inclined_ to resist. Itha fra em.” She looked up at him, still unsure. “I could have left the potion by your bed and left you be last night. You did not compel me to make my vow today. _Ar lath ma_ , vhenan. Ame mar. This bonding is perhaps swift, but it is far from unwelcome.”

 

Ellana smiled, relieved, and stroked his face. Solas smiled and kissed her, gentle, lingering.

 

“Now,” he motioned to the bath. “Allow me to pamper you, vhenan.”

 

Ellana glanced at the tub, gauging its size. She turned back to Solas, and licked her lips. “Join me?”

 

Solas paused, caught off guard. He’d been thinking to attend only to her needs tonight. She sat with only one thigh on the edge of the tub, lowering her hand into the water. After a few seconds, the bathwater was gently steaming.

 

He was sorely tempted.

 

-*-

 

Ellana watched him as his eyes darkened, raking up and down over her body, her skin bronzed by the firelight. She wanted to see all of him, touch all of him. She ached for more of his attentions from the morning, but also wanted to feel his bare chest under her fingers. She was not thinking of returning a favor, but rather had fantasies of taking his manhood in her hands, feeling it heavy on her tongue. Her mouth watered and she realized that her gaze had fallen far south of his face. When she looked back into his eyes, he pinned her with his unwavering focus.

 

Coming to kneel before her, he smoothed his hand over the skin of her inner thigh, following the path of his hand with his mouth, nipping and licking down to her knee. She sighed and moved her fingers over his scalp, feeling rather than hearing his light hum.

 

“Do you know what you’re asking?” he growled against her skin. “Once I have you I will not let you go, vhenan. I will claim you, and claim you again, until we are both hoarse from howling and you are full and dripping with my seed.” He smirked at the expression on her face, shock and breathless excitement. He inhaled deeply and leaned forward to kiss the lips of her sex, suddenly and noticeably moist in response to his words. “Then again,” he murmured, and her eyes fell closed as the vibration of his voice permeated her skin, “that may be exactly what you seek.”

 

Her hand on his head twitched in response to his voice and light kiss, and she braced herself on the curving lip of the tub behind her with her free arm. “Solas…”

 

“ _Is_ that what you want, vhenan?” He moved back, kissing her knee, and took the jar from one of the tables.

 

Ellana licked her lips and found her voice as Solas twisted the jar open. “You torment me by teasing me, vhenan.” She complained.

 

“Yet,” he smiled, “you enjoy that as well.” He dipped his thumb into the jar and gripped the ankle of the leg she had set on the edge of the bath, He straightened her leg and ran his thumb, covered in something smooth, slightly cool and sticky, up from her ankle. His licked slowly along the trail his thumb had left. _Honey_? The thought came to her through a daze. He licked along her leg again, and again. When she supposed her skin was clean, he dipped his thumb again into the jar and moved his thumb over the back of her knee. Sliding closer and propping her leg over his shoulder, he turned his head to lick that off as well, keeping his eyes on her face.

 

Ellana was breathing heavily. She couldn’t stop watching him and his slow progress up her body. She could feel herself getting wetter wanted to touch herself or squirm, but she would do nothing to disrupt him. She was sure he knew exactly what she was going through, and thrumming back along their connection she felt his arousal as well. It was huge, dark and looming, and she knew that he had not exaggerated one word when he told her what he would do once he had her. _But he has me already._

 

Even once he had finished with her knee, he didn’t move. He knelt there, staring at her, until she couldn’t bear it. “Please!” she cried. Then, softer, “Please, Solas.”

 

He laid her leg back down on the edge of the tub and moved closer, crouching between her legs, looking slightly up at her. “Yes, vhenan. Tell me.” He cupper her face and she turned into the contact, her eyes falling closed. “I will do it, emma lath. Vis ar’gen’av’ahnas.”

 

_You. You on top of me, your mouth hands fingers skin on me, in me, want you inside me, fill me fill me_

 

She gasped and swallowed again, trying to find words for a coherent response.

 

“I can _feel_ you, vhenan.” He purred. “Ma’hathan. You must be imagining _delicious_ things, for such a storm to rage within you.

 

“I…” _I want you, you inside me taste you feel you touch you Solas you_

 

He traced her parted lips with his thumb. Her tongue darted out and she confirmed that yes, it was honey. She tilted her head forward and sucked his thumb into her mouth, swirling her tongue around the digit until all she could taste was his skin. He narrowed his eyes as he watched her, and when he spoke his voice was low and rough and dangerous.

 

“Tell me. What do you desire?” He stood and traced his damp thumb down over her lower lip, resting it on her chin as he curled the rest of his fingers underneath and tilted her face up to look at him. “ _Ar’gen’av’ahna_.” He commanded.

 

“Please!” The word felt wrenched from her, but once out it was a rush and a relief, like a dam breaking. “Please let me touch you, I want to taste your skin, Solas, _I beg you_.”

 

He smiled at her, dark and pleased. “Ane emma, vhenan?”

 

“Ame mar, vhenan.”

 

“I ame mar. Disrobe me.”

 

She set on his clothes enthusiastically, undoing the belts around his waist and tugging his sweater up, over his head and arms. She glanced over the tight-fitting, sleeveless, dark green tunic underneath briefly before locating the laces on either side of his torso. She made quick work of each of them, and Solas slipped out of that as well. His bare chest was lean but surprisingly muscular. Like a woman in a trance, she was moving to run her hands over him when he stopped her.

 

“My wolf jaw necklace, vhenan. Retrieve it.”

 

Immediately Ellana bent to look through the pile of clothes at Solas’ feet, and she extracted the necklace. Holding the jaw, she looked up at him, waiting for his next command.

 

“Ir on,” Solas murmured. “Put it on me.” She did. He slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her roughly against him, kissing her with bruising force. When she gasped at the sudden move he slipped his tongue into her mouth, twining it with hers. Ellana’s skin was on fire where it touched his, and the wolf jaw was cool pressing against her sternum. She could feel him hot and hard against her belly, and rubbed herself up against him. As she was about to hook a leg over his, he released her and moved her back. He set his hands on her shoulders. “You are not done,” he reminded.

 

Ellana looked down at his leggings, and the prominent bulge there. She whimpered, or thought she did. _So close. I can smell him. Creators, I want him_. She dropped to her knees and tugged the leggings down over his hips. He was wearing smalls underneath—cloth with a tied leather waistband—and she untied the leather and pulled those down slightly, until she could see the head of his erection. She felt mesmerized, _I can smell him so good how is the smell that good need to taste_ , and she was leaning forward, mouth open, before she had consciously decided to.

 

Solas’ hand in her hair stopped her, and she looked up, letting out a shaky breath. He groaned at the feel of it over his cock. “You are not _done_ , vhenan. Disrobe me.”

 

Ellana nodded and squeezed her thighs together. She was not done.

 

She bit her lip and, focusing on his clothes, pulled his leggings and smalls down until he stepped out of them. She sat back on her heels and balled her hands into fists to resist pouncing on him, and took her first long look at him in the firelight.

 

His legs were as lean and muscular as his chest, and his body was hairless except for his manhood. That hair was thick and dark brown or black—hard to tell in the firelight—and his erection jutted proudly from it, flushed and long and thicker than she’d expected, or would have if she’d formed any specific expectation. There was a bead of moisture at the tip and she wanted _desperately_ to taste it, to taste him. Her mouth watered.

 

Solas kicked their piled clothes toward the neatly folded shirt on the couch, then returned to kneel an arm’s length in front of her. He said something low and lilting in Elvhen, and Ellana’s brow furrowed in confusion. Clearing his throat, he translated. “That is a good pose, vhenan. Spread your knees.” She did. The air was cool on her wet thighs and overheated sex. Solan relished the sight of her spread before him, then closed his eyes and breathed deeply, his nostrils flaring.

 

He moved towards her, placed his hands on her waist and lifted her into a standing position, then followed. He turned her around and brushed her hair aside with his nose, nuzzling her neck. He ran his hands over her body—feeling the weight of her breasts, stroking over her stomach, hovering over her sex so that she felt the heat of him but not his touch. “The bed,” he growled.

 

Ellana quickly went to the nearest side and sat. After a moment’s pause, she spread her knees again. Solas came to stand between them. His erection bobbed in front of her.

 

“You asked to touch me, vhenan. _Begged_. _Ar’dera_.”

 

Ellana wrapped her hand around him, squeezing experimentally.

 

“Harder, vhenan.” He groaned lowly as she followed his instruction. “Ir on.”

 

Keeping that pressure, she began moving her hand up and down, watching the expressions on his face with rapt attention. His brow was furrowed, his mouth slightly open and his jaw clenched, but he watched her through half-lidded eyes. She licked her lips and then thought to reward herself again. She leaned forward and enveloped the head of him in her mouth.

 

“Ah!” he yelled. Loosing a low, rapid string of Elvhen, he gripped her hair, but did not press her closer or pull her away.

 

Ellana squirmed. She had never been this aroused, she knew. She had never heard such a sound from Solas, and she loved giving him pleasure, craved more of the same. She made sure her lips were curled over her teeth and leaned forward, taking more of him into her mouth. Her free hand she used to cup and caress his balls, exploring how they felt in her hand. Solas had stopped talking and was groaning again. His hand clenched and unclenched in her hair, and he drew in a shaky breath. Ellana pulled slowly back and sank down again, and Solas grunted. He pulled slowly out of her mouth, panting.

 

He said another Elvhen phrase, then cleared his throat. “Move back on the bed, emma lath. Lie down.”

 

She did, and almost before her feet were clear of the edge, he was over her, propped up on his elbow. He bent his lips to her ear and said something in Elven, his voice still rough but also, tender and—warning? Ellana shook her head, trying to signal that she didn’t understand. Solas rumbled, frustrated. “ _Ar’hartha,_ vhenan.” Focusing as best she could, Ellana tried to feel through their bond. Solas repeated himself. She still couldn’t claim to understand the words, not in the normal sense, but… _I treasure you. You’re my mate. I will be rough but I will never hurt you. Know this, my heart_.

 

Ellana nodded and wound her arms over his back. His free hand moved to her hip and she spread her legs wider, lifting her knees to either side of him. He entered her in a quick, smooth moment, burying himself to the hilt, and she screamed in ecstasy and clenched around him. Panting, Solas bit the juncture of her neck and groaned loud.

 

He adjusted her leg so that she was wrapped around him, then pulled out slowly before slamming back home. Ellana’s back arched and clawed at him back. “Yes!”

 

He did it again, and again, building quickly to a feverish pace, and she stopped thinking about the individual thrusts. She was so full, and she’d never anticipated this feeling. He was _everywhere_ , over her, in her, around her, holding her, his teeth on her neck and shoulder, growling and panting in her ear. They _belonged_ this way, intertwined. Every thrust was unbelievable pleasure, and she clenched and clawed at his back, moaning, screaming, whimpering. She couldn’t have imagined this, and he was driving her, each movement pushing her closer to a precipice. It was too high, she would never survive the fall, surely already at the limit of sensation, but she trusted him and stopping was not an option. She never wanted to stop.

 

Suddenly she was over the edge, and her body seized in the throes of it. She couldn’t breathe and she didn’t care if her nails drew blood on his back. She screamed his name and felt her magic loose in a rush. She went limp in his arms.

 

Solas urged her back to consciousness, nuzzling her neck, nipping, his hands on her back and breasts and arms. When she sighed and stroked his jaw with her thumbs, he grinned, feral, and pulled out of her. Ellana whined at the loss, but he flipped her over and moved her into a new position, on her hands and knees. His cock was slick and still hard, pressed lightly against her entrance. He stroked his hands over her back, possessive, before urging her wordlessly to lean on her elbows.

 

When he entered her, again in one smooth thrust, she knew why. At this angle, with every thrust he hit something that made white sparks explode in her vision—she really hoped she wasn’t setting anything on fire—and had she not been on her elbows already she would have collapsed to them at the sensation. Solas built to the same pace as before, but this time he gripped her hips, slamming into her with each thrust. Ellana arched her back and pressed back, meeting his movements while she had the presence of mind to do so. Every time he came flush against her, she felt his sack brush against her clit, combining with the pleasure of his angle to make her eyes roll back in her head and a high, uneven whine fall from her.

 

Solas leaned over her, one hand coming to cup a swaying breast, the other snaking around her hips, to pinch and tug and rub at her nub. He groaned her name as she spasmed around him almost immediately, and she screamed. She bit her lip hard and held onto consciousness this time, which allowed her to feel Solas jerk into her, losing his hard rhythm. Staying deep inside her, he pulled her into a kneeling position, moving her head to the side and kissing her roughly. She had bitten her lip bloody, and he lapped at it and then kissed her forehead. She felt him pulse inside her, and felt like he was swelling.

 

“Once more, vhenan,” he said, his voice hoarse and deep, barely intelligible. “Once more, for me. Can you?” He kissed her shoulder and ran his thumbs along either side of her spine.

 

“Yes,” she whispered, surprised to find her voice no less hoarse than his. She swallowed and said again, stronger, “Yes, emma lath.”

 

He pulled out of her, and she felt a thick slickness drip out of her as well before she reflexively clenched closed. He laid her down on her back again, her head on the pillows. She moved to wrap her legs around him, but he propped one up on his shoulder before bracing himself and entering her again, slowly. He dropped his forehead to hers, panting and groaning as he thrust, watching her face as she watched his. He cupped her face as he kept a steady, comparatively gentle rhythm. Her breath was no less labored, and she smoothed her hands over his chest, one moving up to stroke over the base of his skull, her nails drawing light and repetitive against that spot.

 

Ellana couldn’t meet his thrusts in this position, but it allowed him to go deeper than before. She clenched around him, matching his rhythm, and as she approached her peak he picked up speed. She watched him as long as she could, but then she felt wave after wave, her body awash with sensation and too sensitive, and she threw her head back.

 

Solas pressed his lips to her throat, groaning long and low and what might have been her name, before gripping her thigh and hip and jerking against her twice. He held himself there as she again felt that pulsing, swelling feeling, then collapsed on top of her, letting her leg fall from his shoulder to his side.

 

Half-conscious, Ellana stroked his head and his back, and Solas gently brushed his fingers over her side and neck as their breathing slowly calmed. Eventually, he pulled gently out of her and pushed himself up. Ellana worried for a moment that he was preparing to leave, but he only tugged the covers and sheet down underneath her before settling next to her and pulling the bedclothes up over their hips. Ellana turned and pressed close, laying her head on his chest and her arm across his waist. Solas maneuvered his arm underneath her, hugging her closer.

 

Ellana’s breathing evened out into sleep and Solas followed soon after.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvhen Terms:
> 
> Ar’hartha – Hear me / Listen to me / Perceive me / (possibly) Understand me  
> Ar lath ma – I love you  
> Vis – if  
> Ar’gen’av’ahnas – You beg me*  
> Ma’hathan – I hear (/perceive/understand/listen to) you  
> Ar’gen’av’ahna – Beg me**  
> Ane emma? – Are you mine?  
> Ame mar – I am yours  
> I – and/also/moreover/etc.  
> I ame mar – And I am yours / I am yours, too  
> Ir on – [So] very good  
> Ar’dera – Touch/stroke me (also, reach [me])
> 
> *The “s” at the end of “gen’av’ahnas” makes this “you beg”. Apparently direct objects (“ar” meaning Enlgish “me” in this case) are often attached at the beginning of such verbs. Learn something new every day!
> 
> **Yes, this is different from Chapter 2. There he said “gen’av’ahna sul em” which is “beg for me”. Here he says “beg me”, which only calls for the imperative form of the verb with the prepended object. [writer pauses, thinking] Seriously, does anyone but me care about this stuff?
> 
> Chapter notes:
> 
> The companions really do not shut up. If I had written out all of the dialogue bouncing around my head, they’d almost never have left the table. Varric and his stories… I know the dinner is the (slightly) shorter part of this chapter, but when I originally wrote this out it ended up much longer. It just wasn't necessary, so I cut it down.
> 
> I know the OP called for no angst, but Solas is a naturally broody man (broodier, in fact, than Fenris) and trying to keep him from going off even internally thinking about his other obligations and goals and how much of a complication the Inquisitor has become is DAMN DIFFICULT. I’m just avoiding his POV in scenes that would naturally lead to that for his character. It’s not in his character to just not brood, but in keeping with the prompt, I guess I don’t have to show it.


	5. Peak

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I am deeply grateful for the hard work of my dear beta, Storm! She has put up with (and been incredibly prompt in response to) my last minute updates and all manner of writer-y eccentricity. You’re a gem, my dear. This fic is much improved for your editing.
> 
> I am also really grateful to everyone who commented and left kudos. I try to respond to comments in a timely manner, but I’ve been prioritizing writing. I’m really engaged by this story. Even if I don’t reply to your comment before the next chapter is posted, please know that I read and appreciated every word!

 

Ellana stretched her legs out in front of her, reclining on an intricately carved, plush divan. She ran her hand over the silken, dark yet impossibly blue fabric. Patterns seemed to shift as she looked at it, appearing and rearranging themselves before disappearing again, and she thought that subtle hues did the same. She could stare at it for hours, but her surroundings were as compelling.

 

The divan was set against a wall of water, flowing to nowhere, disturbing nothing as it moved and remained in exactly the same place. The room was a large, round, open patio, and the stones smelled as if light, floral perfume and spices had been somehow built into them. In the floor and the high, high ceiling the stones were arranged into intricate, beautiful mosaics of heroic-looking figures, animals and plants and flowers, and landscapes. The air glimmered, and the low sun glinted through it as though innumerable, impossibly tiny gems were acting as prisms. Each part of the room seemed like it should be too much, gaudy and overwhelming, but it was all subtle, each thing coming to her as if sentient, patiently waiting for her senses to focus on it and take it in. Arbor blessing and something like crystal grace wreathed delicately around the columns around the perimeter, and dawn lotus floated beyond the room, the occasional bloom peeking between the bars of the low railing which meandered between the columns. Other furniture was scattered around, all elegant lines and subtle patterns and deep, intense hues.

 

Ellana sat up slowly and touched the water wall delicately. It was cool, and made her whole body feel as though she’d stepped into a refreshing stream, yet it was as firm and unrelenting against her fingers as stone. When she removed her hand, the feeling dissipated. She stood from the divan and wandered to the edge, looking out over a valley that looked both manicured and wild. A herd of halla was grazing in the distance, near a willow tree which she was sure was impossibly large. She stood and wandered closer to the edge. She leaned one hand against a column and felt a sting as the air rippled before her.

 

A huge wolf, its fur black enough to swallow the light, did not so much come up next to her as bleed into her perception. It looked at her with dark eyes, then looked out at the landscape, sitting down on its haunches, vigilant.

 

Ellana was sure she should be frightened, but she felt safe around the wolf, despite the fact that it was larger even than the largest horse she’d seen. _That’s no stranger than anything else here, is it_? She hesitated, then reached out to stroke her hand over the creature’s shoulder. The fur was so fine that it almost hurt to look at it, soft and warm. The wolf whuffed, then laid down, still staring fixedly beyond the patio. Ellana grew bolder, stroking between its ears and down the line of its back.

 

After a while, she wandered around the room, inspecting the carvings more thoroughly, enjoying the fragrance of the stone, which seemed to change based on which scene in the mosaic she was looking at. The patio was large, perhaps the entire courtyard of Skyhold could fit into it. Yet, if she tried to extend her hand beyond the columns she encountered the barrier, and wherever she wandered, she always found the wolf laying in front of the nearest part of the railing, staring outward, though she never saw it move.

 

Finally she padded over to the wolf, and lay on her stomach on its back, occasionally running her fingers through the thick, fine fur.

 

“Dangerous behavior,” Solas noted, nearby. He was sitting in a chair with a high, sloped back, next to a small table with an obsidian top supported by what looked like crystal filigree.

 

“Why?” Ellana sked, stroking the great beast’s ears. It leaned into her touch but otherwise did not move.

 

“It is a wolf.”

 

“It is a friendly wolf.”

 

Solas smiled. “So it is. How can you know, though?”

 

Ellana considered for a long time, still petting the wolf. “I know that I know. It is a poor explanation, but I…know this wolf.”

 

Solas nodded thoughtfully.

 

Ellana relaxed, letting the peace of the place influence her. After long minutes, she asked, “Where is this, vhenan? Where are we?”

 

“In the Fade, of course.”

 

“I know _that_ , I mean where is…or where _was_ , this place?”

 

Solas looked over the room, his expression inscrutable. “This is a memory of the old Elvhen Empire. A leisure garden, in a place that no longer has any name.”

 

Ellana let that thought settle in her mind. “And the barrier? It feels like your magic, but magic in the Fade is…”

 

“Not impossible,” Solas assured her. Anticipating her next question, he explained, “Right now you are like a beacon, vhenan. In the waking world, people can smell you, if they’re close and they have the senses, but here in the Fade, you are a siren song, a beacon. Not every spirit that would answer that call is benevolent.”

 

“You’re protecting me,” Ellana said quietly, warmly.

 

“Bellanaris, emma lath.” Solas crouched next to the wolf and stroked his hand down her back.

 

They talked about the leisure garden—mostly Ellana asked questions and Solas answered—until the world slid gently away from them.

 

-*-

 

She woke slowly, pressing her face down, inhaling Solas’ scent. They had shifted in their sleep, and he was behind her, spooning her. One of his arms was thrown over her, holding her with her back to him, fingers intertwined with hers just below her breast, and the other was extended in front of him, serving as her pillow. From his breath, she knew that his nose was just near the crown of her head.

 

 _He stayed_ , she thought, elated. She hadn’t realized how important it was to her that he share her bed (at least after they’d been intimate) until she woke up to find him still with her. She pressed back against him happily, and found him to be half-hard, his member pressing against her cheeks. Experimentally, she rolled her hips against him.

 

“Vhenan,” Solas purred, “ir on’ala ar’theneras.” He pressed forward firmly, untangling their hands and moving his low on her stomach.

 

He pressed her back against him, and Ellana froze as the motion pushed a rush of slickness out of her. _Oh, Creators, is that his…_?

 

Solas noted her sudden stiffness. “Ellana?”

 

She tried to clench her opening and her thighs closed, but only succeeded in making a soft squelching sound. She blushed deeply, so suddenly that she felt lightheaded.

 

He moved his hand from her stomach to her mound, and relaxed when he felt the source of her sudden embarrassment. He kissed her neck and chuckled lowly, a sound that sent a jolt of arousal straight to her sex. “Pleased as I am that you want to hold my seed inside you,” he nipped her ear affectionately, “I must tell you that it will come out sometime.”

 

He stroked her thigh and she relaxed, allowing him to slip his hand fully over her. His fingers were coated even before he pushed a finger between her lips to gently rub at the bundle of nerves. She didn’t know whether to press against his hand or grind against his rapidly growing hardness behind her. Splitting the difference, she rocked back and forth, arching her back to rub against him.

 

Solas groaned, and pressed his thigh between hers, urging them apart. He guided her with his leg until hers was up and back over his hip, and she was spread open for him. His shifted the arm underneath her until he could cup her breasts, teasing her erect nipples with his fingers. Ellana whined and pressed more firmly back against him.

 

He slipped a finger into her, then two, scissoring them to prepare her. “Sal ma’nuvenan, vhenan. Ar’nuvenas?”

 

“Please,” she gasped, pressing his hand more firmly against her flesh. She moaned as he added a third finger, moving in gentle circles to prepare her as his thumb rubbed over her clit. She was clenching the pillow with one hand, and the other she moved over his forearm and back, until she could grip the firm muscle of his backside. She tried to press him closer to her.

 

He bit her shoulder firmly and pulled his fingers out of her sex. Shifting their positions slightly, he lined himself up with her entrance, and began to push in. Ellana wailed and tried to sink back on to him, but he held her hip firmly, hissing a stream of Elvhen through gritted teeth as he restrained himself.

 

When he was flush against her, he closed he teeth around the back of her neck. Ellana went lax in his arms with a little moan, lifting her thigh higher and pressing back into him. He rumbled approvingly and began moving, slow, gentle, measured thrusts, his hand still firmly gripping her hip to keep her from trying to increase the pace.

 

Solas continued like that, and Ellana fell into a kind of trance, her world becoming nothing but the pleasure and the feeling of being both loved and gently cared for. Solas kept speaking softly to her, low, strained, but like the first night, it _felt_ like praise. Her orgasm came, not bowling her over but suffusing her, beating with each of his thrusts, leaving her short of breath and floating. As she tightened around him she felt his steady rhythm falter, and he moved himself over her, shifting enough that she could turn her face to him and they could kiss, softly. She felt him swell and pulse inside her again.

 

Solas settled back down behind her, panting against her neck, letting let their legs fall closed, though his knee was still pressing between hers. He found her hands with his and held them, shifting so they were leaning back, her half on top of him, and rested their joined hands over her ribs.

 

They lingered that way for a while, before Solas urged her to sit up, and he moved off the bed. She watched him as he gathered a shallow basin and some of the cloths that had been set near the bath. He filled the basin from the still full bath and came back to bed, heating the water in one hand. He sat on the edge and, dipping a cloth into the water, began to gently wash her thighs.

 

“You don’t have to… I mean, I can…” she trailed off as he set the cloth down and cupped her face with his hand.

 

“I want to.”

 

Ellana watched him, blushing, entranced as he continued to wash their combined fluids from her, occasionally rinsing and ringing out the cloth. She shifted according to his softly spoken commands, and he took care around her now-oversensitive sex.

 

When he set the cloth inside the basin, apparently done, she surged to her knees. She leaned forward and kissed him, trying to communicate…something. She was grateful, but that wasn’t it, she wasn’t thanking him, she just…. Suddenly, she felt tears on her face. Embarrassed, she sat back to wipe them away, but Solas pulled her close again, kissing each as it escaped, stroking her hair.

 

“Ar lath ma tas, vhenan,” he whispered.

 

Ellana sniffled and laughed softly, happily. She tried to put everything she felt into her words, made a clumsy attempt to open their connection and show the feeling to him there. “Ar lath ma.”

 

She got up and emptied the basin, refilling and rewarming it. Kneeling in front of him, she gently washed Solas’ thighs and groin, blushing to see that she had completely covered him with her juices. The hair around his manhood was thick but trimmed, and she found herself enjoying the texture on her fingers when she brushed against it.

 

When she set the cloth in the basin again, he lead her to the bath. After a moment’s deliberation, he selected a pouch of bath salts from one of the tables, and poured them into the bath. He leaned down and stuck his hand into the water up to his elbow, heating it as he stirred. As the water heated, the scent of citrus and sandalwood filled the room. Finished with that, he climbed in and motioned for her to join him. Smiling, she settled into the hot water, sitting between his knees, leaning. She rested her head on his chest.

 

A deep chuckle rumbled against her. “You cannot sleep, emma lath. You have things to attend to, today.”

 

“But none right this moment,” she sighed, contented.

 

“One,” he said, pressing a small vial into her hand.

 

Ellana drank the potion to suppress her Season and settled back against his chest. He ran his hand through her hair. The gentle, repetitive motion lulled her into dozing.

-*-

 

Solas used one of the soaps—oatmeal and sugar, did the Orlesians intend to make soap or breakfast?—and took one of the cloths still folded neatly by the bath, preparing it. He ran the soapy cloth over Ellana’s arms, dipping it down into the water to run gently over her thighs. She barely stirred when he pulled one of her knees to her chest so he could extend her leg, cleaning down to her toes. He encouraged her to lean with her arms on the side of the tub, and began cleaning her back. When she hummed in contentment, he smiled. Finally he turned her around to face him and supported her as she leaned back, dipping her hair into the water. Undoing her braids, he rinsed the sweat from her hair and used the cloth to gently clean her face.

 

“Hold your breath,” he warned. When she’d taken a deep breath he dipped her under the water and brought her bag up. She wiped the water from her eyes.

 

“Now you,” she said, taking over his soap and cloth.

 

Solas laid back, relaxing, as Ellana tended to him. Her movements were tentative at first, reverent, just shy of worshipful. He was glad not to be worshipped, not by her.

 

He hummed and let his eyes fall closed. His mate was thorough, immersed, gentler than she needed to be. He examined their bond to find that she was growing excited. It was not the overwhelming red rush of lust from her season, but the more personal attraction that she could—and obviously did—feel for him naturally. He shifted his posture, arching his back slightly, and admitted to himself that he was showing off and enjoying every bit of her attention.

 

Ellana slid close, pressing herself against him. They kissed slowly, deeply, and his cock stirred at the wet slide of their skin. He growled and put his arms around her, squeezing her against his chest before moving his hands down to cup a cheek in each hand, squeezing.

 

“Thu ane ir gaelathe?” he ground out against her lips.

 

“Vhenan,” she began, leaning her forehead against his, “if you ever want me to understand what you say, you’re going to have to start teaching me.” She slid away from him, still in the loose circle of his arms. “Also, I need to do your back.”

 

“Veraisa.” Nudging her head affectionately, he turned around as she moved back to make room for him.

 

Her hands on his back were even more soothing, and she applied pressure as she moved the cloth around, making the bath into half a massage. When he let his head loll forward she moved her hands up to scrub at his scalp.

 

“How do you keep it so hairless? I’ve never seen you shave.”

 

“Perhaps I am so old that I have gone bald naturally.” He murmured, smiling.

 

Though he couldn’t see her, he was sure she rolled her eyes as she poked him in the back. “Ha, ha, _hahren_. Where you have hair, not a single one is grey. Try again.”

 

Chucking softly, he answered. “Magic. It’s a simple enough spell.”

 

He felt her hands rest, palms flat, against his back. “Really?”

 

Turning around, he looked at her face. “Yes. Why are you surprised?”

 

“I just… never imagined you using magic for something so trivial.”

 

“Personal grooming is not trivial. I am certain Vivienne would agree.”

 

Her laugh was light an carefree, as he’d not heard her sound in weeks—possibly ever. “That’s probably the only thing you and Vivienne _do_ agree on regarding personal grooming.”

 

“Not so. I think we also agree on the importance of regular bathing.”

 

Pressing her body, warm and firm, against his back, Ellana wound her arms around his middle. “I can’t complain about that.” Covering her hands with his, Solas stayed in that position with her for a long while, savoring the moment. The hot water lapping at their skin, her breath, comparatively cool on his back, the scent of the soap and the salts and her skin in the air, the two of them warm and safe and together. He thought, the truth of the words undiminished by silence: _Ane ara las_.

 

Eventually, he shifted, and took the soaped cloth to wash his face. Ellana and he maneuvered until they returned to their original positions, she sitting between his legs, her back to his front, and he braided her long, dark hair into a much, much older style. On each side of her head, a web of braids intertwined, flowing back to combine behind her head, while her hair on top and in back was smoothed down, straight and confined by the web of braids in the back, everything combined into a short, thick plait ending just between her shoulder blades.

 

Ellana brushed a hand over her head, then turned slightly to raise an eyebrow at him over her shoulder. “Magic?”

 

He smiled. “Magic.”

 

“You really have to teach me one day. I don’t even want to think about how long it would take for me to do this manually.”

 

Solas hugged her close, inhaling the warm scent of her skin, evident to him despite the soaps and salts. “I will, vhenan.” Though they had woken a little past dawn, time was flowing inexorably on. “You will be expected at you meeting soon.”

 

“Yes.” Despite her response, she didn’t move for another minute. “Okay.” Ellana drew a deep breath, tugged her way out of his embrace and stood, stepping out of the tub and drying herself quickly.

 

Glancing at his own discarded close, Solas exited the bath and began to dress. Ellana had the luxury of a fresh set from her wardrobe. She gave him apologetic looks as she pulled on a fresh breastband and smalls, followed by her usual Inquisitor style, but in hues of red and gold. The warm colors complemented her dusky skin well.

 

“I could send for your things, or…”

 

Waving her concern away, he secured his belts. “No need.”

 

Ellana came to him and stood on her tiptoes to kiss him. Drawing it out and placing her hands on his shoulders, then winding her arms around his neck, she shivered and pressed closer. He settled one arm around her and stroked her face, tenderness and diagnostic magic in his touch.

 

Breaking the kiss, he informed her, “We should leave Skyhold this evening. The potion will hold perhaps to the end of the day, not more.”

 

She nodded. “I’ll let Leliana know. Knowing her, she’s already found and prepared something. Even if not…we can fend for ourselves.”

 

He nodded and released her. “I will see you later, emma lath.”

 

One last soft kiss, and she was off to attend to everything that needed doing before they left.

 

-*-

 

The morning meeting was short, and the day was uneventful. Ellana began to feel more comfortable. She had been afraid of this thing, but why should she be, now? She was no longer fighting the urge to mount every man in the vicinity—other than Solas—and the potion was working so that even her urge to do that was manageable during the day. At night, she got to enjoy pleasures she had barely ever imagined with her lover, falling asleep sated and waking in comfort, in love.

 

If she had this to look forward to for the next two weeks, why even leave? She could handle her responsibilities as Inquisitor and _enjoy_ her Season when she had the time to do so.

 

She was chatting with Cassandra about Varric’s latest installment in his romance series. The seeker seemed thoroughly relieved to be speaking to Ellana normally, and had apologized profusely for the conversation at the dinner the previous night despite Ellana’s assurances. Cassandra was gushing about a particular passage in the romance book—a steamy scene between the male and female lead, which ended with a cliffhanger leaving the reader wondering if they had done anything more—when Ellana resolved to go to Leliana and cancel her plans to leave Skyhold.

 

Ellana excused herself, promising Cassandra that she would put light pressure on Varric to get his next chapter out as soon as possible, crossed the yard and began to ascend the stairs to the keep. It hit her when she was on the first landing, a wave of heat like a wash of furnace-hot air, but it didn’t pass. Sweat broke out on her body, and she stumbled, falling to one knee. She heard, as if underwater, a light _splat_ , and looked down to the stone in front of her in time to watch another drop of blood join the pool. As she watched, the pool grew, and a tentative touch of her finger to her nose told her that it was bleeding freely. She made to stand but the world tilted crazily, and she wobbled back to her kneeling position, dizzy. She thought she might be sick.

 

Like the only bright, focused thing in her world, she felt Solas coming towards her, rushing, _I’ve never seen him move that quickly outside of battle_. She wanted to call to him, but when she opened her mouth her stomach heaved. Bending over her knee, she closed her eyes and tried to breathe slowly.

 

Solas knelt beside her, and almost immediately his magic was washing over her in waves, healing, calming, soothing as it flowed. As everything but that pervasive heat left her, she sagged against Solas’ side, feeling weak. As soon as she had the strength she asked, “What just happened?”

 

Though his voice was calm, she felt his anger and guilt through their bond. “I underestimated the strength of it. Since…” he trailed off, looking around. “We should not discuss this here—and we should leave immediately.” He pressed a damp cloth to her face, gently wiping away the blood.

 

They walked together, Solas supporting her as they made their way into the main hall. Varric gave her a concerned look as they passed, but said nothing. Ellana expected Solas to take her all the way up to the rookery where Leliana spent most of her time, but he laid her on the couch in the rotunda. He cast, of all things, a stasis spell over her, and asked her to stay put while he went to speak with Leliana.

 

Ellana tried to sit with as little of her body in contact with the couch as possible. She was burning, felt like she should still be sweating. It didn’t feel like any kind of normal fever. Wearily, she listened as Solas ascended, caught only the tone of his conversation with Leliana.

 

Propping her elbows on her knees, Ellana leaned forward, dropping her head. Obviously this was more serious than she’d thought. She’d been worried about embarrassing herself, throwing herself at men, shaming herself and the Inquisition, damaging their cause with her indiscriminate desire. She hadn’t considered that her Season could _hurt_ her.

 

 _I’m afraid_.

 

The tone from Solas’ end of the bond changed, and she felt a rush of reassurance, protectiveness, devotion. She could almost hear him in her mind. Solas appeared crouching before her, and Ellana jerked upright. How had she not noticed his return?

 

“Remember my vow, emma lath.” His hand was cool and soft on her jaw. “I will not allow anything to happen to you.”

 

“How can you stop it?”

 

Solas’ eyes glinted as he paraphrased one of their earliest conversations. “I will do whatever I have to.”

 

Ellana treated him to a tremulous smile as he removed the stasis spell and raised her into a standing position. “Ma bre serannas.”

 

“Tel’nuvenin serannan em.” He began leading her to the crosswalk that lead through Cullen’s office, she assumed so that they could avoid encountering too many more members of the Inquisition. “The harts are saddled, and I have a map to our retreat. It will take perhaps three hours at full speed to get there.” Entering Cullen’s office they both looked up to find Cullen occupied by papers at his desk.

 

“Cullen…”

 

The Commander looked up at the weak sound of the Inquisitor’s voice. He was usually frowning when he looked over reports, but his expression immediately changed to deep concern. In one moment, Cullen had taken in her pale skin, her sweat, the way she leaned on Solas for support. Cullen stood quickly, his heavy wooden chair scraping.

 

Striding over and all but ignoring Solas, Cullen laid a hand on her shoulder, getting a closer look at her slightly pained expression and only becoming more worried. “Inquisitor, are you—of course you’re not well. I…”

 

Ellana was distracted by his hand on her shoulder. The contact felt…not wrong, but taboo. It was completely chaste, but nothing felt chaste in that moment for her, and she found herself suddenly entertaining thoughts of his large, gloved hand touching her elsewhere.

 

Beside her, a dark magical pressure gathered, and Solas snarled at Cullen, “Get away from her.”

 

Cullen’s eyes widened in shock at the tone coming from the other man, normally so calm and collected. His hand tightened protectively on Ellana’s shoulder, and she sighed, her eyes falling closed. “Solas, I need an explanation. What is happening? What is wrong with her?”  
  
“You will hear no more than what she has already allowed you.”

 

Cullen was obviously gearing up to argue when Ellana stopped him with a light touch to his elbow, ignoring the low growl from Solas behind her. “You are…my friend,” she gritted, as much for herself, to remind herself not to do anything inappropriate with Cullen, as to reassure him. “I will tell you more…later.” Using her grasp on his elbow, she pulled his hand away from her shoulder. “For now…you cannot touch me.” Through their connection, she sent Solas her apologies for her temptation, her assurances that she wanted only him. It seemed to calm him. To both of them she said, “We need to leave.”

 

A tense moment passed as Cullen looked at Ellana, who was avoiding his eyes, and Solas, who was scowling at him. After a few heartbeats Cullen stepped back, then walked over and opened the door that would lead them to the stables. Ellana shot him a grateful look as they passed.

 

They encountered no one else on their way out of Skyhold, and set out, passing under the barbican and gatehouses, down the winding mountain slopes, and through the Inquisition camps. When they were a few miles beyond the last camp tent, Solas lead them off the side of the road into a copse of high evergreens, maneuvering his hart so that they faced each other.

 

“I underestimated the strength of your Season,” he explained, “because there is so little information on what happens when a virgin comes into it.” More matter-of-factly than she would have preferred, he continued “You are a beautiful woman, vhenan, and surely you reached sexual maturity at least a decade ago. Why have you never taken a lover?”

 

Embarrassed, Ellana shifted her weight and bit her lip. Her hart grunted underneath her, stamping its hooves. “The Dalish….aren’t shy about such things. I thought about it, of course I did, just to enjoy myself. But, our numbers are dwindling. There’s pressure to have children…”

 

Solas tilted his head. “You prefer women?”

 

“No, I…” A great huff escaped her in a ball of white air. “No, I’m trying to say…that’s exactly the problem. I’m not interested in women, but if I’d shown interest in a man, we would have been encouraged to bond. There was no one I wanted to bond with. I didn’t want to have children. I know that men can choose when they…” she blushed and looked into the middle distance, feeling naïve, irrationally bashful about male elves being able to choose when to impregnate their partner. “It’s why you never see any half-elves with elven fathers,” she murmured, almost to herself. Licking her lips nervously and looking back at Solas, she finished lamely “I just didn’t want children.”

 

Solas nodded, and after a moment his gaze sharpened. “’Didn’t’…? And now?”

 

The thought of Solas filling her with his child, growing heavy and pregnant under his protective gaze, made her smalls grow slick. She’d never really considered it before—but was it was she wanted, or driven by her Season? “I…I’m not sure. But I know now is not the time, with Corypheus…”

 

“Yes,” Solas said, visibly collecting himself. “Of course, you’re right.” He frowned at his hands on the reins for a moment, then looked again at Ellana. “What happened earlier—the potion is fighting your Season, and your Season broke through. Because there was that alchemical resistance in your blood, it surged, and some of your vessels burst. I healed the damage, but it will be too dangerous to use the potion until your Season begins to subside again.” Scowling out into the trees, he apologized. “I should have anticipated this, vhenan. Instead, you suffer.”

 

Ellana urged her hart forward a half step, took his arm and pressed her cheek against his forearm. “You are saving my life, emma lath. You are helping me.”

 

Solas moved his hands over her intricately braided hair, and scanner her face. For a minute, he leaned over with his forehead pressed to hers. When his hart bleated and moved, separating them, he straightened. “Let’s continue.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 5: Glossary of Elvhen Terms:  
> Bellanaris – forever, eternity  
> Ir on’ala ar’theneras – How wonderfully you wake me, lit. “Very wonderful you wake me”  
> Sal ma’nuvenan – I want you again, lit. “Again I want you”  
> Ar’nuvenas? – Do you want me? Lit. “You want me” made a question by the question mark  
> Ar lath ma tas – I love you, too [“tas” is also/too]  
> Thu ane ir gaelathe – How are you so perfect?  
> Veraisa – (noun) tease, flirt, vixen  
> Hahren – elder, more experienced person (also, leader of an Alienage)  
> Ane ara las – You are my hope  
> Ma bre serannas – My deep/sincere thanks**, You are deeply/sincerely appreciated  
> Tel’nuvenin serannan em – No need to thank me**, I do not need/wish to be thanked/appreciated
> 
> **The phrase used a few times in canon is “ma serannas”, which is interesting because it seems to be reversed when I think of the conjugation rules of Elvhen—more like saying “You are appreciated”/”You have my appreciation”. “Ma” usually means “you” and “seranna” means gratitude or appreciation. “-s” is usually used to conjugate to the second person singular (you) and “-n” to the first person singular (I) at the end of verbs, which makes it look like “You are doing the thing where you are appreciated”, but it doesn’t seem to be in the passive voice. Honestly, I can’t FIND the passive voice in Elvhen. This was just interesting to me because I’ve most often seen “Ma serannas” translated as “my thanks” which is correct in terms of the meaning but grammatically seems to be fundamentally backwards.
> 
> Chapter Notes:  
> The description of the leisure garden is based on various lore encountered in Trespasser that gave a better picture of Old Arlathan, which mentioned things like using magic to bend materials against their nature—making rock flow, for example. The lore also mentioned great works being accomplished in a ridiculously short time, minor details being incredibly (life or death) important, so I tried to imagine what a minor example of something like a patio for the wealthy might have looked like in a world where the Fade and the physical aren't really separate, which is why the rock smells. In a good way.  
> It is my headcanon that Solas switches to his native tongue (Elvhen) when he’s really aroused, just like many bilingual people do, and that once he’s at that point it’s really challenging for him to try to communicate in Common. This isn’t really important to the plot, it just makes me smile. 


	6. Bound

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, thanks again to my wonderful BETA, Storm!
> 
> POST UPDATE: I hate hospitals SO HARD. Okay, I don’t, but it mystifies me that they can expect anyone’s condition to get better while they’re waking you every hour to put a pressure cuff around your arm and poke you with things and in the background medical professionals bicker over how quickly you’re dying. Which isn’t fair of me, because doctors and ESPECIALLY nurses work hard, and I am grateful, just… ugh.  
> Also, heh, I kept waiting on feedback for the revised Chapter 6, then realized that it had lingered in preview mode until it died. Put more simply, I forgot to click to actually UPDATE the thing. So… yeah. Your author is a doof. Apologies. I am uploading 6b and 7 together now, and will have 8 out by the end of this week as an apology.  
> And, uh, I’ll make sure that the chapters are displaying correctly in the future.

After several hours’ hard riding, they arrived at the site as the sun was setting. It was not a cabin, as Ellana had expected, but the ruins of what looked like it had once been a small house, set into one of the rising foothills on the Ferelden side of the Frostback Mountains. Ellana guessed that it would probably take only another day’s ride east to get into the Hinterlands. The house was incongruous, a random example of ancient elven architecture, isolated in the mountains, but it was remarkably well preserved, and had been reinforced, rebuilt, and refurnished.

 

Solas helped Ellana down from her hart, not even giving her a chance to protest that she was more than capable of dismounting on her own. She collected the saddlebags from the animals and put them inside while Solas, she presumed, secured the harts in the small makeshift stable attached to the house. The main door to the house was set in a pointed arch, made of heavy wood—it had to be ironwood or something like it to last the ages. The interior was long and rectangular, the walls made of stone with evidence of repair here or there, usually visible in or near the roof. There were no sharp room divisions but rather walls that were mostly archways, with torches in delicately wrought metal sconces set in the stone between the arches.

 

The first room was open, one corner near the door obviously designed for cooking and alchemy, a bench with a low table before it on the opposite side of the door, and a fire pit dominating the center of the room. In the back, columns and archways divided a raised sleeping area in one corner and a large bath from each other and the main room. In the other corner, a small room was the only example of a solid, walled enclosure, with a small arched door—Ellana guessed that was the privy. A tall, heavy wardrobe was placed in one of the arches bordering the sleeping area. Around the house, what windows were intact had glass separated into intricate, abstract shapes by the frame, but no colors. In fact, aside from the detail of the architecture, like the pointed, blind trefoil arches in the exterior walls, there was nothing ornate about the place. In contrast with the Elvhen temples she’d seen, there were no mosaics inlaid with gems and precious metal, no homages to any god—though there was a windowed alcove where an altar could easily have been built, but which was occupied instead with a window seat.

 

_Of course_ , she thought. _After all, it’s not a temple. It’s a home_.

 

Leliana’s people had done an excellent job preparing the place.

 

Ellana wandered over to the sleeping platform. A heavy wooden frame supported a mattress that looked almost overstuffed. Linen sheets were laid over that, a plush coverlet, and on top of all of that, thick, luxurious furs. Cushions had been set around the fire pit, a table put up in the corner opposite the cooking area, in front of the sleeping platform, with chairs. A handsome wooden cabinet had been moved in with flatware, cookware and utensils. More furs were laid as carpeting over the stone floor. Despite being only in the foothills, the area around the house was still cold, and it was mid-autumn.

 

Wandering back to the front door, Ellana leaned her forehead against the cold stone. She felt Solas’ familiar magic as his wards went up outside. The fire in her blood hadn’t abated, and she was sure that the effects of the potion either already had or were about to wear off completely. The ache at her center was more of a pain, and all of her clothes, high quality materials though they were, felt like sandpaper on her sweating skin. Her body felt strangely buoyant, and she was lightheaded.

 

She got out of her clothes quickly, hoping to at least remove that irritant. Instead, her nipples tightened in the cold air, and the caress of the slight currents in the room over her hypersensitive skin soothed briefly before making everything more intense.

 

_Maybe if the air wasn’t so cold…_ Ellana flicked her fingers and the torches and fire pit exploded to life, the light fire spell she’d meant to cast coming out about thrice as strong as she’d anticipated. Luckily, nothing caught on fire or burned which was not meant to do so. Slowly, as carefully as she could manage, she formed a small bubble of ice crystal in her hand, marveling not at the simple magic, but at how easy it was to manipulate the energies of the Fade. _This must be what Solas meant about my elemental magic strengthening_.

 

Ellana rolled her head to look when she heard the door open and felt the rush of colder air from outside. Solas stopped mid-stride when he saw her, standing naked, dimly illuminated by firelight, flushed and sweating, and holding a delicate globe of ice. Her body reacted to the sight of him, back arching slightly to better display breasts aching to be touched. The ice melted rapidly as she crushed the bubble against her throat, enjoying watching his darkening eyes follow the path the droplets made over her torso.

 

In two heartbeats, Solas had closed the door and was on her, his hand against her lower left abdomen, pushing her against the wall next to the door. She whimpered at the touch of his hand on her skin, pressing into it even as he pushed her more firmly into the wall. When he seemed content that she would not move, he trailed three fingers from her throat to her navel, following the path of the water. Solas smirked, then gathered both of her wrists in one hand, pulling them up and pinning them above her head.

 

Ellana surrendered happily as he pressed a bruising kiss to her lips, and squirmed. He was only touching her with his hands and lips, the rest of his body held away from her, her own hands caught overhead. She wanted more contact, arching toward him when he lifted his head to allow his gaze to sweep over her. “Vhenan,” she panted, “ma’isalan.”

 

He formed magical cuffs around her wrists and stepped back from her. Probing with her magic, Ellana found the cuffs to be very likely strong enough to take her weight, but magically weak enough that she could break them easily if she really wanted to. For a moment Ellana worried that Solas would be content to simply watch her without touching her, but then she noticed him undoing his belts. She watched him pull his sweater over his head and throw it onto the bench. His other clothing followed, and she bit back a moan when he stood before her, fully naked, proudly erect.

 

Coming in close again, Solas brushed her hip with his thumb. He raised one hand to lift a breast, flicking over the achingly sensitive, swollen nipple, making Ellana wail. It was a sound she made again, louder, as his mouth closed over the tip of the other breast. She shook and panted as he traced her nipple with his tongue and tugged with his teeth, and then switched to give the other breast the same treatment. Her breasts had never been particularly sensitive, but his mouth was hot and soft and everything he was doing was so perfect. She tugged on her restraint. “Solas, _please_ …”

 

Her mate gave her breast a parting bite, then straightened. The hand that had been on her hip slid to her eager sex, and without ceremony he slid three fingers in, stretching her. So softly that she almost didn’t catch it under her cry of pleasure, he said, “Ma nuvenin, vhenan.”

 

Ellana ground against his hand wantonly, gasping, almost crying as she felt like she might finally be near relief from her fever after hours of travel. Solas moved his thumb so that it bumped her clit with each clumsy, energetic buck, and she was close, so close, clenching around him—

He pulled his hand away.

 

“No!” Something like a scream was trying to escape her. “ _Please_ , Solas, _please_ , I was—ah!” Her voice broke as he lifted her legs and slid into her in one lithe movement, and her eyes rolled up. _So good, so much better, exactly, exactly_ …

 

She closed her eyes and focused on her mate, inside, filling her again and again, the scrape of the stone against her back a beautiful counterpoint to Solas’ quick, deep thrusts. She felt wet fingers on her chin and happily sucked them into her mouth when they pressed at her lips. She circled them with her tongue, the taste of herself on his skin exciting her further.

 

“Ah, _on_. _Dava, ava a’lan_ , vhenan.” The sound of Solas’ voice was a low hoarse growl, and she moaned. Ellana didn’t have to understand him perfectly to know that he was more than pleased with her.

 

Solas pulled his fingers out of her mouth and lifted her legs around his hips, beginning to slam into her and holding her against the wall. His pace was almost punishing and she thought vaguely that he must have been holding himself back almost as much as she had been on the ride to this place. She could barely catch her breath, and he drove it out of her with each powerful thrust, but somehow she still found herself babbling, not even trying to string together a sentence, just a stream of “yes” and “so good” and “love” and “Solas”, increasingly incoherent.

 

Sooner than Ellana thought, she felt it, rushing up on her, slamming into her. The breath went out of her and she threw her head back, not even feeling the impact against the stone, shuddering and tightening her legs around Solas as though she could draw him even further into her. A heartbeat later he threw his head back and howled, stuttering into her in three more strong thrusts before holding himself deep. She felt him fill her, a feeling that was becoming familiar, and they stayed like that, shaking, together, for long moments.

 

Solas took in deep, uneven breaths as he relaxed against her. He moved one hand up to dispel her restraint and supported her, his hands on her hips, as she stood on unsteady legs. Affectionate and gentle, he spread kisses over her neck and ear as he slowly pulled out of her. Ellana wound her arms around him and pressed close as he stroked her back in long, warm sweeps of his hand from her neck to her rear.

 

When their breathing had returned to normal, Solas tipped Ellana’s chin up and smiled. “Calmer now?”

 

Content, she nodded. “Mm. But I wasn’t the only one who was frustrated.”

 

“You were not,” Solas acknowledged. He kissed her briefly and looked around the house. “We should get ourselves situated.”

 

-*-

 

They gathered their clothes but put them away rather than dressing again. Solas began to prepare dinner while Ellana put the contents of their saddlebags away in the wardrobe, small pantry, and the drawers built into the bedframe. When they came close enough as they moved around, Solas would kiss her or brush her skin with his hand. He wanted to keep in contact with her, hold her by his side. _She is mine_ , a primal part of him thrilled, _and I have her_.

 

Ellana had not been wrong in noticing that he had also been frustrated. All the way from Skyhold he could smell her, her scent growing more potent as they rode, calling to him. A dozen times or more he’d considered calling for a rest, taking her in the woods or caves through which their path had wound, but he’d stopped himself. Had they actually stopped, he was not at all confident that they would have made it the rest of the way, and it was important to reach this place.

 

Once in the house, seeing her naked and flushed by the door, looking at him like he was her salvation, he had not even considered trying to restrain himself anymore. His cock twitched at the memory of having her squeezed between his body and the wall, soft and desperate for him, the remembered sensation of her tongue around his fingers, licking off her own juices…

 

He calmed himself. _We have time. We are alone here. There is no rush_.

 

For food, he was heating some mutton pies they’d packed in the small oven, and bringing cider to a simmer over the stove. Glancing over the contents of the pantry, he found that it was stocked with spices, flour and butter, salt and sugar, and various vegetables, as well as a full array of alchemical ingredients and tools in several drawers.

 

Finished with putting their things away, Ellana came to stand next to him, leaning her head on his shoulder. He stroked her ear and turned to kiss the tip, giving the pot of cider an idle stir. After another few minutes, he damped the flames in the oven and stove and, protecting his hands with a light glove of magic, removed the pies from the interior. When he turned towards the cabinet containing the cookware, he smiled to see Ellana holding two plates toward him. He set the pies on the plates and poured the warmed cider into two tankards.

 

Ellana chose a fur-covered spot on the floor near the fire pit rather than the table, and he raised an eyebrow, but joined her nonetheless. Her plate was placed to her side and she sat with her legs outstretched toward the fire. Solas settled next to her in the same position, sliding his foot against her ankle. She smiled at him.

 

“I was First in my clan, not a hunter,” she explained, cutting into her pie, “but I would still go out with the hunters sometimes. Keeper Deshanna encouraged me to develop some means of defending myself other than magic, and felt that every Dalish should at least know the basics of hunting and gathering.” She ate the piece she’d cut, making a pleased sound low in her throat, and cut another.

 

“It is a reasonable precaution.” Solas noted, trying not to react too much to the soft noises she made as she ate. He sipped at the cider.

 

“Mm,” Ellana began, then swallowed. “It is practical, but I also really enjoyed it. I loved the camaraderie, the sense of accomplishment with the group. Being a First, you’re set apart…it can be lonely.” She took another bite of pie and a long drink. “This is really good.”

 

“Yes,” his voice was lower than he’d anticipated, and he forced his eyes away from her throat, to the fire. He stroked her ankle with his foot again and she returned the touch.

 

“What was I…? Right. Being First can be lonely, but I made friends with the hunters. After a successful hunt—ha, after an unsuccessful one!—we’d sit together in front of the camp fire and eat. They’d talk and joke and I’d join in sometimes. They didn’t defer to me, out in the woods or the fields, under the stars. I miss it. So, here I sit, on the floor.” Laughing at herself, she leaned on his shoulder and looked up at him. “So how savage do I sound, exactly?”

 

“It is not savage to take joy in nature and companionship.” As though a separate observer, he watched his hand tracing a path down her neck and along her clavicle, over the center of her chest as she sighed. His eyes returned to her face. She was watching him intently. “What of when you travel with your companions? Surely there is camaraderie there.”

 

Ellana shrugged lightly and moved away, cutting the rest of her pie into four small pieces. “Yes. Of course there is. But, no matter what, I feel like, in the end, with the others, I’m always…”

 

“The Inquisitor,” Solas finished.

 

She ate another piece, staring thoughtfully into the fire before she answered. “Yes. And before that, the Herald of Andraste.” Scoffing, she drank more of her cider before flopping back into the cushions. “I don’t even _believe_ in Andraste. I mean, I believe that she was a real woman, and that she… _tried_ …to do good, but the wife of a god? And me, her Herald?” She stared up into the shadows of the roof, probably not even noticing the garlic, elf’s ear and other things dangling from hooks in the rafters. “They are dear friends.” As though to convince herself, she repeated, “They are my friends. But they saw me as the Herald first, and even if they see _me_ more…I think that ultimately I am the Inquisitor to them.”

 

Stretching out next to her on his side, he laid his hand out over her stomach, spreading his fingers. Solas examined the contrast of her skin before looking back up to Ellana’s face, turning her head towards him so their eyes met. “You are much more than the Inquisitor to me.”

 

Drawing her knuckles down the back of his neck, she leaned up to kiss him. Gently spreading her lips with his, opening her mouth, he tasted her. The mutton and cider did not completely mask the hints of her juices, and he made a dark sound before moving half over her, pressing her down into the furs and cushions and cupping her breast. She arched into his touch and it wasn’t until her thigh brushed his hardening member that he reined himself in. he bumped his forehead against hers before sitting back up. A small hand settled gently between his shoulder blades, questioning.

 

“Solas?”

 

“We should finish eating.” His eyes drank in her body, the firelight over her skin, dark, trim patch of hair between her legs, glistening. Her dark nipples. “Then…”

 

Ellana shivered at the promise in his voice. Mindful of his eyes on her, she finished her food as Solas did the same next to her. On impulse, she wiped her small finger around the edges of the plate, gathering crumbs and gravy, and sucked it into her mouth.

 

Solas enjoyed her little shriek of surprise when he grabbed her by the waist and pulled her over his body. She knocked over his empty tankard as she settled straddling him, his manhood jutting up just in front of her mound. _Oh, the scent of her…the sight of her…_ “On’ala,” he groaned, stroking he thighs. “Ir ina’lan’ehn.”

 

Ellana raised herself over him. Edging forward, leaning over, she kissed him as she sank down onto his engorged flesh. The bow shape of her mouth as it fell open in pleasure entranced him. “Ar lath ma,” she gasped, settling fully against him.

 

“Himas ga…gasha.” He gripped her hips and lifted her before bringing her roughly down. They both cried out at the sensation. Solas leaned up and Ellana bent down to kiss him, open-mouthed, biting, as she ground against him in circles. He bucked up against her and encouraged her to rock against him. In this position, her tight, velvet heat enveloped him completely.

 

Solas felt almost reverent, looking up at her. Slipping his thumb between them, he rubbed firmly over her clit, growling as she clenched tight around him, bucking. Ellana found a rhythm, rocking against him, and his eyes fell to half-open. Though she braced herself on his chest for leverage, she could only go so quickly. Rather than speed, he met her movements with a roll of his hips, pressing deep and firmly into her every time she moved forward.

 

When she shuddered and came, her suddenly weak arms braced trembling against his chest, he sat up, cradling her against his chest. He braced himself with one hand and used the other to steady her at the waist, surging up into her in deep, rapid thrusts. He drank in her expressions as he extended her pleasure, each thrust driving a soft cry out of her and making her tighten around him in blissful waves. He praised her in between his own groans, soft lilting Elvhen phrases, no less explicit for their elegant sound.

 

When he felt himself tighten he moved both hands to her waist to hold her against him. “Ir ma’dianemah, emma lath.” Solas threw his head back and shouted as he emptied himself into her. She clenched around him again, as though milking the last of his seed, and he leaned in, biting her throat as the pleasure slowly subsided.

 

Solas lowered himself onto his back and Ellana settled on his chest, nearly purring. Allowing himself a small, proud smile, he closed his eyes.

 

-*-

 

Ellana felt like a particularly pampered pet. Her mate’s hand stroked over her sweat-soaked hair and her wet back in long, lazy movements. She savored the new feeling of rising and falling on his chest with each of his breaths. It would be so easy to fall asleep, and it had been such a tiring day. Beyond the windows the sky was dark, and the magic of Solas’ wards was like a comforting breeze over her skin. She fell asleep.

 

Hours later, she protested wordlessly as Solas delicately moved her off of him, and she made herself comfortable in the cushions and furs. She heard him moving around, gathering and washing their dishes from the sound of things. After a while he came back over her, running his hand along her side, admiring the hills and valleys of her body. Solas brought her to her feet and lead her to the bathing area.

 

Ellana sighed. She wanted to bathe, but didn’t feel like conjuring a lot of water or going out to the small pump and using bucketful after bucketful to fill the deep tub. She was astonished when Solas merely turned two of the handles, and water began pouring out of the spout. He smiled at her amazement.

 

“Running water was one of the many commonplace wonders of the ancient Elvhen,” he noted, running familiar testing spells for purity over the flowing water. “From its architecture, I believe that this house was built as a kind of magical exercise for an apprentice, and I thought that the bath might work this way.”

 

The water ran over her hand when she crouched and tested the flow, moving fast, pushing at her hand like a waterfall. Ellana looked up at Solas, eyes wide. “A whole house like this, molded from magic?”

 

Solas nodded, smiling at her reaction. “Remember, ancient Elvhen were immortal. Something like this would have been the culmination of decades of careful study. I cannot say how long it took…Fade memories distort time regularly. However, the fact that building structures was a standard method of testing an apprentice’s skill and concentration is very clear.”

 

Ellana watched the tub fill for a minute before turning to Solas again. “What else? What else does the house have?”

 

Pleased as usual by her curiosity, Solas showed her the wards built into the wall near the kitchen that removed the need for a chimney, and indicated a larger one in the roof over the central fire pit that served the same purpose. Hatches in the kitchen floor opened into two small chambers that were much colder than the ground or weather could account for alone. The smaller of the two was freezing. Small carvings which she hadn’t noticed near the base of the walls warded away insects and small pests. Tiny marks in the windows insulated the house. The washbasin in the kitchen could fill, like the bath.

 

Finally, he led her to the enclosed room—a privy, just as she’d thought. In it was another washbasin. Solas leaned over and pulled one of the three small, expertly carved levers, more like switches, on the wall. A small stream of water spurted out from the seat of the privy. Triggering the second lever replaced the stream with a steady blast of hot air, and the third caused the water in the bowl to swirl down and away.

 

Trying to stop grinning wildly and completely failing, Ellana tested the switches herself. She felt almost self-conscious with Solas standing to the side in the small room, watching her. The handles on the washbasin, built as a column protruding from the wall, yielded hot and cold water. Perhaps the ones in the kitchen and bath did the same. Admiration clear in her voice, she asked, “Do you know how to do this?”

 

Solas nodded, and preempted her next question. “I could perhaps make or direct some alterations to Skyhold. Though it is in disrepair, it is also an ancient Elvhen building and I believe some similar amenities may have been part of it. However, building something like this house with magic alone would be…time-consuming. It took many years for me to understand the skill watching the memories in the Fade; I can only imagine that it would take many more for me to teach it to another mage, especially Circle mages whose understanding of magic has been corrupted from childhood.”

 

Ellana’s face fell. “Even I…?”

 

His expression surprised, Solas first looked out of the small privy window, then back to her. “You…you are different. Your mind is more open, yes, I could teach you. Our bond is such…I could perhaps transmit the knowledge directly.” Considering her for a moment, he asked, “You want to learn plumbing magic?”

 

Ellana raised her nose, pretending to snootiness. “ _Architectural_ magic,” she corrected. “Besides, you know me. I want to know, just…everything.” She ran her hands reverently over the handles on the washbasin, her expression wistful in the mirror above it. “I think that is what’s really tragic to me, about the Fall of the People. I have only one lifetime to learn all I can, and it will never be enough. I must prioritize, because I don’t have time to learn everything. I will probably never learn to smith, or fence, how to farm, how to speak all of the languages, how to sail.” Solas’ arms came around her from behind and she placed her hand over his, clasped over her stomach. “The finer details of medicine, instead of just directing magic to an area…ha, even brewing spirits! But the ancient Elvhen, Solas, they did not have that limitation! They had _who knows_ how long, centuries, eons, to study and learn and experiment with their skills and teach and learn more, all the time.” She leaned back into him, closing her eyes, tears building behind her eyelids. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, pinching the bridge of her nose and trying to suppress the tears.

 

“Vhenan,” his voice was thick with emotion, muffled against her skin. “Where others mourn the storied wealth and power of the Elvhen, you weep for the lost knowledge and opportunities for learning.” He shook his head slightly, disbelieving.

 

Trying to lighten the mood, Ellana shrugged. “As Sera has said, I’m ‘a weirdy. An elfy weirdy.’”

 

Solas turned her around and cupped her face in both of his hands, looking at her with a wonder that made her shift her feet, embarrassed. “You are marvelous. I have not encountered another living soul like you.”

 

Unable to hold his gaze she closed her eyes. “Lots of people want to learn, Solas.” She said softly.

 

She felt him shake his head again. He whispered, his barely brushing hers, “It is much rarer than you would hope.”

 

His lips were gentle on hers. Solas didn’t move to open her mouth or deepen the kiss, but was instead soft, careful. He radiated love and a strange kind of thankfulness. Feeling the chaste nature of the gesture, Ellana responded on kind, her movements equally light and delicate. Strangely for her, this kiss felt more intimate than any they had shared before, and she knew that had nothing to do with their nudity. When he trailed his lips up to her forehead, Ellana released a low, uneven breath. Words weren’t enough, so she felt along their bond and projected as potently as she could:

 

_Ar lath ma. Ar lath ma. Ar lath ma_.

 

Solas returned the sentiment to her, enveloping her, accompanied by a deep, aching gladness. She didn’t realize she was crying until he wiped the tears from her cheeks.

 

They exited the small room and went to the now-full bath, Solas turning off the water with quick twist of a handle. He heated the water and picked up some soap and a cloth from shelves set into the wall over the bath. They entered using the steps on the side closest to the bed, until they were halfway in, at the deepest part of the bath, the water lapping at Ellana’s hips and navel.

 

Slowly and tenderly, Solas appearing alternately reverent and thoughtful and Ellana with a joyous disbelief, they bathed each other. Ellana reveled in the genuine, unabating, encompassing sensation of his feelings around her. This learned, powerful, astonishingly intelligent man loved her, was impressed by her. In her clan, what had made her special was her magical ability, her position as First. In the Inquisition, it was still a strange power that made her special to the people gathered around her, but Solas saw _her_.

 

The crimson haze of her Season was rising around her again, and she wanted to curse it. This moment was perfect; she didn’t want the complication of her Season to take over.

 

Sensing the rise, Solas smiled at her. He began unbraiding her hair, quick, strategic tugs that quickly undid the elaborate style. “Ma lath, ma vhenan. Nuvenan him emma falon’saota?”

 

Ellana’s Elvhen was not particularly good, but she understood enough to make her eyes widen. “Are we not already…?”

 

Solas lifted her onto the lip of the bath opposite the sleeping area. “The bond we have _could_ be dissolved at the end of your Season…should you wish it.” Her wide eyes flitted over his face. “There is a much more lasting bond, but…” he trailed off, realizing what he was about to propose with a mix of profound longing and distant horror, both emotions kept carefully out of his connection to her. He _wanted_ her bound to him, wanted it like air, but a proper mating bond was permanent, eternal, entwining their souls _beyond_ death. Circumstances had dictated that he bed her before she knew him, knew what he had done, but this? It was not necessary, and contrary to his feelings and desires, it could not yet be called _right._ “You must think on it, and wait.”

 

“No!” Flushing, she swallowed and made an attempt at a more normal voice. “No, I… ar’himasa, Solas.”

 

He leaned his forehead against hers, his happiness washing over her, making her want to cry again. Placing his right hand over her heart and moving her right hand to his, he spoke slowly and softly. As he spoke, magical energy coalesced around them, so thick that she could taste it, an electric sweetness on her tongue.

 

“Tel’mala. Later, vhenan. Careful—listen, but do not repeat my words. Memorize them, feel the magic.” Part of him hoped that she would disobey, and repeat after him, sealing their connection, but he knew she would not. “Ma’sul’ema min melin, emma falon’saota.” Ellana gasped as she felt the magic, foreign and potent and ancient float into her, encountering no reflexive defense, filling her. Solas continued, his voice resonating through her as though he was pressing his mouth over her whole body as he spoke. “Jushirir alas’en saron bellanaris.” The magic settled into her in a rush, as much a part of her as her own magic, layered lightly over her native powers. Every nerve tingled with the sensation. His hand on her thigh was one more of a thousand sensations. “Can you remember it, arlath?”

 

Swallowing against a dry throat, Ellana began, watching him intently. “I don’t think I could ever forget it, vhenan.” Solas shivered and closed his eyes, and she could almost see the magic that had settled in her echoed as a soft aura around him, familiar as her own breath. “I can feel it,” she sighed, breath hitching as Solas shifted, his hand sliding up her thigh, the magic on and in and under her skin shifting with him— and yet, “It's incomplete.” she noted.

 

“Yes. It will dissipate.” Solas knelt and pressed his head to the inside of one of her knees, and for a moment she worried that he had been struck by faintness from being in the hot bath too long, the expeditur of gentle but _potent_ magic suffusing her. He surprised her by leaning forward, spreading her legs, and running his tongue along her slick folds. Gasping and arching her back, she laid both hands softly on his head and let her legs fall wide. “Solas…!”

 

He tilted her hips for better access and nuzzled her clit with his nose, running his tongue around her opening. More readily than she thought possible, Ellana felt herself soaking wet and holding herself back from grinding against his face, panting and whimpering. Solas savored her, lapping at her like a delicacy, making her think suddenly of the way he lightly licked his fingers after downing one of his favorite Orlesian cakes. Shifting up, he lapped and sucked gently at her bundle of nerves. He moaned when she dragged her nails over his scalp in response, and the vibration made her cry out shrilly, angling herself forward.

 

Pressing Ellana’s trembling thighs further apart, Solas slipped two fingers into her sex, curving them up along her inner wall, humming in satisfaction when the movement made her shriek. He kept his hand moving in and out of her rapidly and her alternately licked and sucked at her nub.

 

When she was bucking despite herself, just on the cusp, he stood quickly, throwing their existing and incomplete connections wide, and entered her in one sharp thrust. Ellana suddenly felt both her pleasure and his as though their bodies were one, and the surprise and pleasure made her—them—fly apart immediately. She screamed and clutched at him and he howled, holding himself deep inside her, until they were both hoarse and breathless. She felt him fill her and felt herself squeezing, pulling him against her. Solas lifted her, not separating, and sat on a low step, so the water came up to Ellana’s neck.

 

They stroked each other’s skin, rinsing away sweat, interrupting themselves with frequent, brief kisses. Solas ran his hands over Ellana’s hair again, redoing her braids, and their open bonds allowed her to learn the technique as he performed it. He showed her in his mind what he had looked like when he was younger—much younger, but when she tried to focus on the exact number it was suddenly out of focus—when he’d had hair, shaved on the sides and bound into long, thickly braided ropes tied into a ponytail that hung to a handspan below his shoulders. Ellana smiled at the image and ran her fingers over his scalp.

 

As Solas slipped out of her and they washed themselves again, quickly, he gradually closed the connections and allowed the incomplete one to bleed away. Ellana had basked in the closeness, but she was also relieved—it was too much to be both of them at all times. She worried that she could lose herself that way, wondered idly and without alarm if Elvhen who had entered the permanent bond eventually had simply become one soul in two bodies, indistinguishable. Solas turned another knob on the bath and it began to drain. They dried themselves off and Ellana slipped under the covers, Solas following her after damping all of the fires in the house.

 

Ellana fell asleep with Solas firm and warm behind her, his arm over her waist, his breath comforting on her neck. He was her protector and hers to protect. She appreciated that he wanted to give her time, to have her consider, but she was decided. When he was ready—and she knew that it was his readiness they were waiting on, not hers—she wanted him to be her mate, her husband.

 

_Bellanaris_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Ma’isalan_ – I need you, I desire you, I want you  
>  _Ma nuvenin_ – As you wish  
>  _On_ – Good  
>  _Dava_ – (to) lick, lick (imperative)  
>  _Ava_ – taste, eat, suck  
>  _Ava a’lan_ – Taste yourself  
>  _On’ala_ – best, great, amazing, wonderful  
>  _Ir ina’lan’ehn_ – so very beautiful  
>  _Ar lath ma_ – I love you  
>  _Himas ga…gasha._ – You change everything…completely.  
>  _Ir ma’dianemah_ – I’m about to fill/stuff you  
>  _Ma lath, ma vhenan. Nuvenan him emma falon’saota?_ – My love, my heart. Do you want to become my wife?  
>  _Ar’himasa_ – Marry me  
>  _Tel’mala_ – Not now  
>  _Ma’sul’ema min melin, emma falon¬’saota. Jushirir alas’en saron bellanaris._ – I give you this title: my wife/spouse/husband. We will journey [through] the world as one, eternally  
>  _Bellanaris_ – forever/eternally/eternity
> 
> I’m…really surprised to find some of these words in the lingojam translator. I mean, grateful, yeah, and there are things missing so it’s not like writing dirty talk in Elvhen is the easiest thing ever, but still. Under what circumstances in the game or books did an elf have occasion to talk about licking something in Elvhen?
> 
> Chapter Notes:  
> Regarding the running water in the Elvhen house, I look at the veil going up as having an effect on global culture a lot like the Black and Red Deaths and the Dark Ages. Trade stalled, technology was lost. It makes sense to me that the ancient Elvhen would have had plumbing (and might even have harnessed electricity for some purposes, but none where simple local magic could suit), but it was lost in the Fall. In our world, we didn’t have (modern) indoor plumbing until, like, the 1800s. Rome and Egypt did have plumbing. Of course fountains were around, but my understanding is that they operated based on the pressure in natural springs or through gravity, until indoor plumbing became popularly available towards the end of the 19th century.  
> TLDR: Ellana is amazed at running water because it was technology lost with the ancient elves, not because she’s an ignorant boob.
> 
> Beta Note (Storm): Also, bidets are awesome.
> 
> POST UPDATE:  
> So! The reason why the story stalled here and why it needed rewriting was (as I already spoke to xxxRosebudxxx about in the comments), there’s no way I could have Solas agreeing to a permanent bond with Ellana unless I was ready to go on with the rest of the story assuming he _lost his damn mind_. This is a guy who hesitated to become romantically involved, who would not even bed the Inquisitor because she did not know who he really was, and I had him going and putting on permanent magic, soul/magical core level, death-what-death-still-here sort of bonding on her? Before she knows he’s Fen’Harel? No way in hell. Not even with the Season.  
>  I let myself get carried away because I got impatient, and then I was trying to fix it, explain it, and… ugh. So! Now the issue is not an issue, the idea has been introduced but no one is acting in direct and egregious violation of their established personal ethics, and we can continue. Huzzah!


	7. Wild

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one took a while (understatement much?). You know how it goes, life intrudes. For future chapters, I will TRY for a chapter a fortnight. Fingers crossed.  
> Rest assured, unless something catastrophic happens to me, I have no intention of abandoning this story. Thanks to all of you for sticking with me, and to xxxRosebudxxx especially for the lovely discussions. You’re amazing.

In the Fade, Ellana found herself alone. She wandered through a great wood populated by trees whose bases were the size of houses and city blocks. She craned her neck upward, but the massive trunks eventually sprouted branches, and their intertwined lengths prevented her from knowing how tall the trees ultimately were. The cover was so thick that the wood was nearly pitch black, and the ground between the trees was bare of other plants, carpeted in long, slender, dead leaves. The air was undisturbed by wind and redolent with the familiar, comforting scent of healthy and decaying plants. Even muffled as it was by the detritus underfoot, the sound of Ellana’s footfalls stood out stark against the silence of the wood, and was swallowed quickly by the enveloping silence and still air.

 

A spacious house could be carved into these trees. Ellana imagined great cities thriving, suspended impossibly high, hidden amongst the great boughs. Would the ancient elves have done such a thing? Had great forests such as this ever existed in Thedas?

 

Ellana continued to walk, keeping half her attention on the presences she felt gathering behind her. She extended her arm and petted the great black wolf from the leisure garden when it appeared beside her. After another few steps or another few miles—the Fade was often useless for making such distinctions—the wolf knelt, and she climbed onto its back. In great, loping movements, it carried her swiftly through the forest as she held on to the thick fur around its neck. They reached an impressive clearing, blanketed with flowers and dotted with trees that looked like toys or miniatures compared to their mammoth cousins. A crystal spire was in the center, so tall it looked like it pierced the sky. The wolf took her to the base, running through the fragrant fields.

 

As she dismounted, she glanced back whence they’d come. Shapes, dark and smoky, were drawn to them, still at a great distance. When she looked directly at them they seemed to move more quickly. Ellana approached the spire entrance and beckoned to the wolf, but it turned around—he, she realized after he flicked his tail—and sat, staring fixedly at the approaching shapes. Ellana stretched up, stroking between his ears, a stretch as the beast was larger than even the tallest of destriers, then entered the spire.

 

Light permeated the walls, making the interior almost painfully bright. Colors refracted and refracted again, recombining in a dizzying kaleidoscope. Periodically around the spiraling stairwell, the crystal thinned and served as a clear window. Ellana paused frequently, looking out, marveling again at the sheer scale and number of the trees in the grand forest. When the curving stairs brought her around to stand above the entrance, she looked down. The great wolf, her companion, still sat sentry. The shapes and presences milled some distance from the spire, apparently unwilling to venture closer.

 

Ellana climbed and climbed, but felt no closer to the top when the world melted away from her.

 

-*-

 

She woke gradually, roused by the rising red pressure of her season. Having turned in her sleep within the circle of Solas’ arms, she found her nose pressed against his neck. Solas smelled masculine above all, but beneath that he reminded her of fragrant hardwood and the wind through summer fields. Though her Season pulled insistently at her attention—she wanted in the moment to have him touching her, inside of her, most of all—she focused on what she wanted to do beyond that, which was to breathe him in deeply, and she knew he smelled like _home_ to her. _My lover. My beloved_. She shifted against him, moving her hand up to run two fingers along his clavicle. Following that with her tongue, she lifted her leg and moved it over his hip. She dropped he hand between them, feeling along his half-erect length.

 

Solas hummed, half asleep, but hardened quickly. She moved her hand over his hip, fingers playing along the planes of his leanly muscled backside as he gripped her rear to pull her flush against him and ground slowly against her slick heat until he was fully erect. The slow, lazy movement made Ellana moan and arch into him. Ready, he dropped his hand to guide himself in before returning it to her backside.

 

When he was fully seated, he sighed “Ellana…”

 

“Good morning,” she moaned breathily against his shoulder.

 

A gusty laugh blew against her loose hair, and Solas began to move. He set a steady, leisurely pace and kept to it. Both barely half awake, they didn’t try to rush. Ellana rocked with him, clutching at his shoulder as she felt pressure build, inhaling his scent— _home, mine_ —with every breath. Solas’ breaths puffed against her hair, one hand cradling her head as the other steadied her hips, helping them move smoothly together.

 

After some time, Solas grunted and dropped his hand between them, rolling his thumb over her bundle of nerves. The additional sensation sent Ellana over the edge, and she was just barely conscious of Solas swelling and pulsing inside of her as he jerked and came.

 

They rested for a long while, catching their breath.

 

Solas kissed her forehead, smiling. “You truly have wonderful methods of waking me, vhenan.”

 

Nuzzling his jaw, Ellana pressed kisses to his skin in lieu of speaking.

 

Solas allowed himself to slip out but still held her close, occasionally carding his fingers through her hair. Ellana luxuriated in the closeness, the satisfaction, the fact that she had no meetings to get to, that she neither knew nor cared what time of day it was, and most importantly, that she felt beloved and secure in Solas’ arms.

 

She let her mind wander, snagging ideas as it went. What would her parents have thought of Solas? Her mother had been terribly protective, but she was certain that Solas and her father would have gotten along, though Solas might not have appreciated her father’s sarcastic, pun-filled sense of humor. She wondered if Solas would ever meet Keeper Deshanna. If she went back to her clan…and since when had it become “if”?

 

Ellana shook her head, unwilling to darken her mood by considering the implications of never returning to her clan, and waited for another thought to snag. _Today. What should we do today?_ Tempting as the idea was to spend all day in bed either sleeping or having sex, and much as her Season might end up demanding it of them, Ellana didn’t want to spend what time she did have free from the haze of lust idle. Unfortunately, she hadn’t seen any books in the house, and hadn’t had time to pack any. Solas’ notes had been in the saddlebags and were lying among the cushions of the window seat, but he wrote in, she was almost certain, ancient Elvhen. Ellana was illiterate when it came to Elvhen.

 

“Oh!” Sitting up in excitement, she planted her hands on her surprised lover’s chest. “Teach me Elvhen!”

 

Solas blinked at her for a moment before his expression softened into a smile. “Of course.”

 

“I want to read. Your notes—I caught sight of a few lines when I put them down—they’re written in Elvhen, right? You can teach me!”

 

Something like doubt flitted across his features, come and gone too fast for her to be certain she’d seen anything. “Ma nuvenin.”

 

Grinning, Ellana drew a breath to say more when her stomach rumbled loudly. She felt the blush through to the ends of her ears as Solas chuckled. “First, maybe…something to eat?”

 

They rose from the bed, the thought of putting on clothes not even seeming to occur to Solas, and he tossed her an apple from the pantry, beginning to eat his own. Ellana was watching him gathering the materials to make a fuller breakfast when a thought occurred to her.

 

“Wait, let’s hunt.”

 

Solas raised an eyebrow at her. “Hunt.”

 

Nodding eagerly as she warmed to the idea, Ellana made a sweeping gesture indicating the woods outside. “It’s the perfect season for deer, I know I saw some yesterday, and I am _craving_ fresh meat. I’m kind of amazed how much I want it.”

 

Solas’ lips quirked in response to some private joke. “I’m not surprised. It would not be unusual for your appetites to change with your Season.”

 

“Excellent! Venison it is, then.”

 

“Emma lath, there is quite a bit of meat on a deer.”

 

Ellana rolled her eyes. “Are you _certain_? As a Dalish elf, I would never have guessed.” She raised her hands in apology when he shot her a look. “I’m sorry. I know. But, we can take it back here, butcher it, and store what we don’t eat in that frozen pantry in the floor, or salt it. We have a huge bag of salt. We could take whatever’s left back to Skyhold, or leave it for Leliana’s people to gather or to use if they stop here…it won’t go to waste, if that’s your worry.”

 

Her mate tilted his head, considering. “Hunting may take some time. Your Season may well overtake you while we are out.”

 

Shrugging, Ellana slipped on a breastband and leggings before she strode to the door and out. “Better to start sooner then, isn’t it?” She went to the stable and found a simple bow there, among a stash of basic weaponry. Of course, if necessary, she could send a bolt of energy through prey, but she found herself wanting to show off her marksmanship.

 

Solas, who had likewise pulled on his leggings, came up behind her and pressed his palm to her back, a light spell washing over her. Her boy felt like she was standing in a ray of warm sunlight. When she looked askance at him, he briefly surveyed the woods. “If you insist on not wearing clothes,” he looked appreciatively over her mostly bare torso, “then I insist on you being warm.”

 

“The weather is mild.”

 

Solas nodded. “It will not stay that way long.”

 

Ellana strapped a quiver in place, strung the bow and slung it over her back, nodding. They set off.

 

The sun was fully up and they had barely gone into the woods before they found deer sign, and Ellana fell back to follow Solas. He turned out to be a remarkably skilled tracker, following the trail with ease and barely needing to pause to examine a track before he was moving again. He also made almost disturbingly little noise—she hadn't pegged him as a hunter but he slipped into this with such ease and natural grace that she felt slightly jealous. It had taken years of careful study and constant chastisement and ribbing before she was more than a liability on the hunt, more likely to scare off prey or attract a predator than be of use. However, her jealousy was short lived as she instead concentrated on watching Solas move, observing his grace and intense focus and allowing a pleasant shiver to run down her spine as she acknowledged, just in her mind, that he was a consummate predator.

 

The first doe they came up on was with a fawn, so they passed her by and found other tracks. A larger deer, a buck by Ellana’s guess, had been lagging behind a larger group. Dropping into crouches, their pace slowed. It was another half hour before they came in sight of the herd, from downwind.

 

Solas pointed at one of the bucks—young but not a juvenile. Magic began to gather around his hand, but Ellana gently laid her hand on his wrist and brought it down. She crept just in front of him, unslung her bow and pulled an arrow from the quiver.

 

Ellana paused as she prepared to draw. The bow wasn’t of the quality she was used to, and she hadn’t fletched the arrow herself—it was reasonably well done, but not perfect. Those things weren’t going to make this shot difficult. Faintly, she could feel Solas’ breath on her back, feel how close he was…true to his prediction, she could feel the Season rising in her again, though it had to be less than three hours since she’d last been satisfied.

 

Ellana shifted and straightened her back, even as her skin prickled into gooseflesh. She wanted Solas, she wanted venison; she would have both. She could control herself long enough for this. Surely.

 

The shot was good, and the deer collapsed with a shaft out of its eye. The other animals bolted, and the two Elvhen stood from their hide and made their way down the slight slope to the kill.

 

“An excellent shot,” Solas said approvingly, his hand hovering over the arrow, affixing a stasis spell to the body. “Instantly killed. Let’s…” He trailed off as he looked back at Ellana to find that she’d removed what clothing she’d been wearing.

 

She had originally thought to just drop her weapon and entice him, but… _If I run, he’ll chase me. I want him to chase me. I want him to catch me._ The idea was too alluring to resist, and she took off.

 

-*-

 

Solas watched her retreating form for a moment, unsurprised; her unique fragrance had become more intense and more appealing as they’d hunted, and while he expected that she might be somewhat mortified later, wondering what had possessed her to run naked through the woods like she was living out some ignorant _shemlen’s_ idea of how the Dalish acted, it was well in keeping with the impulses the Season brought on. He smiled and removed his clothing, considering his options.

 

He could use their connection to find her, or, thanks to her mark, sense the faint disturbance she left in the Fade as she moved through the world. Instead he gave her a few minutes’ head start and tracked her without magic, without using his magical abilities. She had shown him her skills, independent of her magic, and he would show her his.

 

The smell of her hung in the air, heavy and enthralling, and he loped after her, turning when he lost her scent, finding where it seemed to grow stronger, following. She was surprisingly adept for a mage at disguising her tracks and disappearing into the woods, but then he reminded herself that she had grown up Dalish. Despite her clan’s unusually frequent contact with humans, she had likely spent most of her life in the wilder parts of the Free Marches.

 

As he entered a clearing where her scent seemed to linger and meander, he looked around, moving slowly. His ears twitched when he heard a tiny branch snap and he whirled to face it, but it turned out to have only been a fox. He circled the edge of the clearing, looking to pick up her trail again. The fox had not left, choosing instead to watch him calmly, and as he approached it darted off into the woods.

 

He followed quickly, and a few dozen meters into the woods there were signs of a humanoid’s passage—bent branches, tracks, and most of all her sweet smell hanging in the air.

 

Ellana led him on a winding, looping chase, ascending gradually into the foothills. Perhaps an hour since she’d darted off, he reached an area where the air suddenly grew warm and humid, and found her standing facing away from him. She was looking at a collection of natural hot spring pools before her, seeming to be considering where she should go next. He took a moment to drink in the sight of her naked and proud, growing hard at the knowledge of victory so imminent. Coming up on her silently, the moss underfoot helping to muffle his steps, he allowed himself a smile.

 

When he was close enough, Solas grabbed her arms and pulled her back against him, inhaling deeply, licking along the length of her ear. Ellana shivered and pressed back against him, rolling her hips, pulling a low groan out of him. “Ar unvenan ma,” he purred against her ear, sliding his fingers down her abdomen and into her already wet folds. He had to catch her around the waist as her knees suddenly buckled.

 

“Unvenas em,” she agreed, closing her eyes and leaning her head back against his shoulder.

 

Solas lowered them both to their knees, circling his fingers around her nub, careful not to directly touch it despite her attempts to shift her hips. He bucked against her, growling as his member rubbed against the slippery skin of her inner thighs. Turning just enough, he craned his neck and closed his teeth over her exposed throat, firmly and fleetingly. He closed his eye, savoring the vibration of her moan under his lips as he finally rubbed his fingers over her clit.

 

Lifting his head, he ordered, “Dera a duine,” guiding one of her hands to her chest with his free hand. He watched over her shoulder as she moved both of her hands to her chest, cupping and caressing her breasts. His breath caught on a deep growl when she began to lightly pinch and pull at her nipples. Ellana’s ministrations took on a feverish tone as Solas increased the pace and pressure of his fingers.

 

“Solas,” she pleaded, arching back into him and up. He kissed her, rough and possessive, as her orgasm shuddered through her.

 

Before her tremors had subsided, he pushed her forward onto her hands and knees and slid into her still quivering sex. Ellana arched her back and screamed, thrusting back against him. He stroked his hands over her sides and down her back. “Ma’vhenan. Emma lath gaelathe.” He began moving slowly, wanting to prolong the experience. He leaned over her, cupping her breasts, feeling the weight of them sway as he moved inside of her. Ellana’s long, damp, dark hair called to him, and he grasped it in one hand, pulling back gently until her neck was arched back, exaggerating the curve of her back.

 

The slight shift changed the angle of entry, and she took him even deeper. He growled and tried to keep his steady pace, but Ellana whined and bucked against him until he gave in. Straightening his back and gripping her hips, be increased his speed. Ellana crushed the moss between her fingers and keened, pushing back into his thrusts. The pitch of her cries increased the closer she came to release.

 

When Ellana clamped down around him, hot and unbelievably tight, Solas could not help but finish. He slammed two final thrusts into her, and stiffened, his hand clenching rhythmically on her hips. When he was finished he leaned heavily on her back for a moment, catching his breath, before he pulled out and lay on his back by her side.

 

Ellana bent shaky arms to the ground and laid on her stomach, her side pressed against him. Eyes closed, Solas brushed his knuckles against her cheek and over her loose hair. He returned his hand between them and threaded their fingers together. The air was heavy with the scent of sex, leaves, and crushed moss, tinted faintly by sulfur from the hot springs.

 

Solas took a deep breath before letting it go, relaxing into the bed of moss.

 

-*-

 

After a long while, long enough that Solas thought she had fallen asleep, Ellana laughed lightly. “We’ll have to fight off scavengers when we get back to our kill.”

 

Solas shook his head without opening his eyes. “No. The barrier will not have expired.”

 

“Good.”

 

They fell into another long, comfortable silence. Ellana gently ran her fingers over Solas’ palm and wrist. The sun had begun to fall from its midday height, signaling the afternoon, and the wind through the forest was on the crisper side of cool. Solas’ warmth spell seemed to be beginning to wane, but neither of them were uncomfortable enough yet to shift. Breaking the calm, Ellana said “Either a leaf just landed on me, or I have a bug on my ass.” Solas laughed and brushed off the offending leaf.

 

Climbing to her feet, Ellana looked down at herself. She had grass stains on her palms and knees, and little bits of forest debris had stuck to her wherever her skin was sticky or sweaty—which was pretty much everywhere. She considered the hot springs. “Let’s at least rinse off before we head back.”

 

“Mm,” Solas agreed, sitting up and kissing her calf before rising.

 

She cooled the water from blistering to merely hot, and they both rinsed off. They made their way back to the kill and dressed. Together brought the carcass back to the house, Solas carrying the animal over his shoulders, Ellana admiring the play of the muscles of his back as they walked. By the time they got back to the small house, the sky was overcast and Ellana could see snow or rainfall further up the slopes, approaching steadily.

 

Ellana worried her lip with her teeth. “I’m not sure we’ll have enough time to prepare it before that storm comes in.”

 

Solas considered the sky, then set the deer down on the unevenly paved side of the entrance, removing his stasis spell. “There are spells. Let me show you.”

 

Over the course of the next few minutes he showed her various spells, their connection open so that as he used them his knowledge was imparted to her. While dressing game wasn’t ever a tremendously long process, Ellana had to admit that Solas’ method was about twice as fast and cleaner besides. Solas formed a slab of ice over the paving stones, and separated out a portion of the guts, entrails and organs. Ellana went a ways into the woods to bury the rest. When she came back, Solas performed and taught her another few spell to age the meat and drain most of the blood, and they skinned and butchered the deer, setting the finished cuts of venison on conjured ice. They worked mostly in silence, with an occasional quip or instruction.

 

Ellana attended to the hide, fleshing and hanging it in the stables, while Solas put the finishing touches on the meat and began storing what was useful, throwing out the rest. A short time later, Solas came up behind her and stroked a hand down her back, before casting a rapid succession of spells over the hide and bringing a tip up to touch Ellana’s fingers.

 

“Creators!” she gasped, rubbing the soft, supple material between her fingers. “Do you have any idea how long it normally takes to do this?”

 

Solas chuckled and brushed her hair away from her neck, kissing and giving her a gentle bite at the junction of her neck and shoulder. “Yes, vhenan, but I thought you’d rather use our salt for cooking.”

 

Humming, Ellana leaned back as he put his hands on her waist. “Where did you even learn all of this?” she asked as she felt their mating connection gently close.

 

“A wandering apostate must fend for themselves,” Solas murmured, tugging her lightly against him. “I did not have the luxury of time, and quickly learned that certain spells, adjusted for scale and intensity, can facilitate a great many things.”

 

“A lone wolf,” Ellana murmured. He stepped away, and with one last, lingering caress down her back, went into the house.

 

Ellana tended to their harts, making sure that the animals’ feed trough was full, that they had plenty of water, and brushed them down. She went in just as the storm descended on the buildings, blowing thin sheets of cold rain against the walls. Inside, the house was filled with the mouthwatering scent of cooking venison. Solas gave her a warm smile before he returned to moving busily about the kitchen. Lighting the fire pit to ward against the chill outside, Ellana reclined in the window seat with a few sheets of paper and a long piece of pressed charcoal from among Solas’ things.

 

With the paper balanced on top of Solas’ closed, leather bound notebook on her thighs, Ellana looked up. She watched Solas moving around, still clad only in his leggings, and began to sketch. Despite knowing that it was ultimately futile, she tried to capture the quiet confidence with which he moved, the way the light softened the sharp definition of his muscles, the grace of his long-fingered hands. Vaguely satisfied with that sketch, she moved to the second sheet. Ellana closed her eyes, willing to sketch whatever image next came to mind.

 

Smiling to herself, she began, imagining what they must look like together. Her vantage point was perfect to see the kitchen and the wall to the side of the door where Solas had claimed her upon their arrival. Ellana outlined the background first, then drew Solas, muscles bunched as he supported her weight, clothes strewn around his feet. She added in her own legs around his middle, heels digging into his lower back, arms held overhead by magical restraints. With her hand hovering over the paper, Ellana closed her eyes and pressed her thighs together, trying to relieve the burgeoning ache of want in her center.

 

She startled when Solas laid his hand on her shoulder. Leaning over to look more closely, his hand moving to rub his thumb over the nape of her neck, he said “You draw well, vhenan.”

 

Ellana flushed, squirming. “I… I was…”

 

“I can see what you were doing.” He kissed the top of her hair, maneuvering her into a more upright position and making himself comfortable behind her, his legs on either side. He slid his hands down over her shoulders to her breasts, slipping his fingers between the fabric and skin. He rolled her nipples between his fingers as she released a shaky breath and leaned back into them. She began to set the charcoal stick and papers aside, but he stopped her, the tips of three elegant fingers pressing gently against the underside of her forearm. “Continue.”

 

Her eyes widened—how could he expect her to concentrate like this?—but she put charcoal to paper again and resumed drawing. As she added shadows to the walls, he removed her breastband and cupped a breast in each hand, brushing the undersides and occasionally flicking a thumb over a nipple. When she added detail to her feet, he rubbed his hands up and down her waist. Ellana dropped the charcoal between her legs when Solas’ hand slipped into her leggings. His hand froze.

 

Totally calm, Solas ordered “Pick up the charcoal, emma lath.”

 

Ellana bent forward and retrieved it, the motion rubbing her against Solas’ hand. She whimpered, but laid back against her mate, breathing heavily, and resumed drawing.

 

“Ir on, vhenan.”

 

Solas worked his hand over her, her smalls already sodden with her arousal. He pulled one hand out of her leggings, replacing it immediately with the other, and ran the fingers of his first hand over her breasts and lips, wetting them. Dizzy and awash with desire, Ellana snaked her tongue out, wrapping them around his fingers, rocking against his other hand. She tried desperately to continue drawing, but was hardly cognizant of what she was doing.

 

“Ar lath a duine,” Solas purred, matching the rhythm of her movements and circling her nub, “i a av, i a shol, i ga’ath or ma.”

 

Ellana arched and moaned around his fingers. The charcoal in her hand snapped from being held too tightly. Solas removed his hands from her, ignoring her disappointed, desperate whine.

 

“Put it all away,” Solas commanded, standing.

 

Shakily, shuddering to a halt every time her sex rubbed against the damp, clinging material of her smalls, Ellana collected the papers and the pieces of charcoal and set them neatly in a corner of the window seat. She found herself bending and twisting more than she normally would, just to have more of that titillating friction.

 

When she was done, Solas guided her to the bed. They stood in front of it as he considered her, praising her softly in Elvhen as he kissed and stroked over every part of exposed skin. He raised her wrist to his mouth and sucked on the skin there. Ellana watched him, transfixed, moaning softly at the surprisingly arousing sensation of his mouth on the thin skin of her wrist. Solas tugged her arm and she stepped close, surrendering to the intoxicating feeling of her mate’s soft, dry lips on hers. The thought that he could probably taste her juices from before when she’d sucked on his fingers made her feel lightheaded.

 

Solas had her undress fully before she lay on the bed, and he knelt at her feet. Taking ahold of her heel, he lifted her leg and kissed her ankle, brushing his lips from there to her calf. The trail his touches left along her skin was electric, hypersensitive.

 

“Ar tel’elithan sa ath or ma lathan,” he rumbled against her skin, pulling her towards him to kiss and bite the back of her knee and up her thighs, “ahnsul ga a athen ea ina’lan’ehn.”

 

“Please,” she gasped.

 

Solas propped her leg on his shoulder, sliding the opposite hand up her other leg, sliding two fingers into her sex as he watched her face. Ellana arched into his touch, letting her mouth fall open, panting. His fingers were pumping in and out in a steady rhythm, and she rolled her hips to match, moaning and calling his name softly, watching him watch her. The color of his eyes, the look on his face as he watched her—

 

_All that predatory attention, focused on me—_

 

Ellana laid one hand against the bedding, feeling the fine fur beneath her palm, slipping the other over her mouth. Wetting the tips of her fingers, she drew that hand over her chin and throat, between her breasts, diverting to the side to tease her nipples as Solas watched her hungrily.

 

 _This man_. He slipped a third finger into her. _This amazing man. My mate._ Her eyes began to roll back.

 

“Don’t come.”

 

 _That_ certainly focused her. “Ahn?!”

 

“Don’t come.” Solas repeated, leaning up, spreading her legs further and not slowing the pace of his hand in the slightest. “Not yet.”

 

Ellana whimpered but tried to comply. She tried to relax around his hand, but it was hard. All she wanted to do was clench, to bring the pleasure and release she could still feel building closer. She fisted the fur coverlet in both hands when Solas lowered his head and kissed her mound. His tongue flicked over her clit.

 

“Ah! I can’t--!”

 

“You can,” he pushed her thighs wide as he swept his tongue over her sex in one long stroke. “Wait.”

 

Closing her eyes and swallowing hard, Ellana concentrated on relaxing as much as possible, not arching into his touch or rocking with him. She drew her lower lip between her teeth, biting down hard. Solas murmured approval, bringing her to the edge then slowing down, once, twice. As she approached ecstasy again, Ellana pleaded. “Vhenan…vhenan…”

 

Positioning himself over her, Solas filled her in one long, maddeningly slow movement. “Josh i em,” he growled, bracing himself with one arm, thrusting quickly.

 

Ellana hooked her leg over his shoulder and dug the fingers of her opposite hand into his waist, pulling him closer. She met each thrust, small, high noises escaping her every time he pushed fully into her.  
“Solas…!”

 

“ _Rosa'da'din sul em_ ,” he gasped. “ _Come for me, vhenan_.”

 

Ellana buried her face in his neck, clutching at him, screaming voicelessly as she _finally_ gave in. Feeling slammed into her, taking her breath, wiping her thoughts blank. She clung to Solas as her anchor in the torrent of sensation, shaking, before she faded into unconsciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 7: Glossary of Elvhen Terms:  
>  _Ar unvenan ma_ – I found you  
>  _Unvenas em_ – [You] found me  
>  _Dera a duine_ – Touch your breasts/chest.  
>  _Ma’vhenan. Emma lath gaelathe_ – My heart. My perfect love.**  
>  _Ir on_ – very good  
>  _Ar lth a duine, i a av, i a shol, i ga’ath or ma._ – I love your breasts, and your tongue/lips, and your legs, and every part of you.  
>  _Tel’elithan sa ath or ma lathan, ahnsul ga a athen ea ina’lan’ehn_ – [I] cannot choose one part of you I love, because all parts of you are beautiful.  
>  _Ahn_ – What?  
>  _Josh i em_ – Move with me  
>  _Rosa'da'din sul em_ – Come (orgasm) for me (lit. “Withstand a ‘little death’ for me”)
> 
> This chapter, I noticed that I’ve been quite happily assuming that since the verbs aren’t always accompanied by a subject in various Elvhen phrases, and the conjugation of the verbs is distinct for first, second, and third persona and their respective plurals, that it’s not actually necessary most of the time to include the subject. I included it in phrases like “ar unvenan ma” because I’ve been using the object-prepended-to-verb” model and needed to have the subject when the tense shoved the object to the end of the sentence (“un-” indicates the past tense). Anyway, that’s how I’ve been doing things and it’s unlikely to change, but I do wonder if it makes sense. I’ve started looking at the (wonderful, extensive) exploration of Elvhen here on AO3, and I think I’m doing…well enough. At the moment.  
> I think I’ve been unduly influenced by my study of Japanese, which seems to imply the subject as often as possible, indicating who or what the subject is based on context and sentence structure and avoiding stating it too directly as that could come off as aggressively, needlessly specific. Anyway, I’d hate to end up having to go back and re-do all of these Elvhen phrases. Hmm. I am aware that in all likelihood it really doesn’t matter and precious few people will care, but I do like to put my best foot forward and translating these phrases for use in this story has been a little piece of pride for me. Ah, well. Que sera, sera.  
> ** This may be out of order, but “gaelathe lath” sounded like stuttering. I will not have it.
> 
> Chapter Notes:  
> For hunting buffs (how many readers like that do I have, I wonder), I’m very aware that you should dress an animal ASAP after killing it for a variety of reasons—but this is why Solas put the stasis spell on the body before he went off on a much more pleasurable hunt.  
> I was actually going to go into much more detail with how they prepped the deer and banter in with it, but while I may be a hunting nerd (having unfortunately only read and watched video on the topic and not lucky enough to have the experience of hunting for food), I realize that most people might not appreciate a detailed, bloody account of where meat comes from (much as I think people should really know where meat comes from). And if I got any details off, I would greatly appreciate the correction.


	8. Yet Unfree

_The pavilion again,_ Ellana thought.

 

It was certainly the pavilion, but something about it was different—missing, somehow smaller. She strode to the railing and put her hand tentatively out, but encountered no barrier. The place seemed out of focus slightly, as though her eyes were tired after a long day. Rather than being dazzled and enchanted by her surroundings, she got the impression of bewitching patterns, the sense that she ought to be impressed.

_It’s like I’m seeing a story someone told me._

 

“Of course,” a soft voice which conjured sensations and feelings of old vellum and quiet candle-lit evenings came from next to her. A woman, opalescent and somewhat translucent, less approached than melted into being beside Ellana. “This is not your memory.”

 

Ellana turned slightly to regard the woman—lady—spirit? “I'm sorry, but we haven't been introduced.”

 

The spirit hummed thoughtfully. “A statement perhaps up for debate, depending on perspective. I am Wisdom.”

 

Ellana’s eyebrows shot up. “Wisdom? I could have expected to attract some company in my state, but I can't see what about me right now would—“

 

“Some spirits are summoned,” Wisdom interrupted gently, “some are drawn, and many more decide where they will go.”

 

“And you are of the third sort,” Ellana hazarded.

 

“I prefer to be.” Wisdom seemed to gaze out over the vague, verdant landscape.

 

Ellana drew her fingers over the railing and the twining vines that curled around it and considered, briefly. “I know one of your—I do not know what I should call him in relation to you. I don't imagine all spirits know each other any more than all elves do. But, his name is Cole. He decided where he would go. He must have, to have willed himself corporeal. I think he is very kind, perhaps…mercy?” She stopped talking and glanced at Wisdom, who did look to be listening but also seemed inclined not to comment yet. “I think…I mean, can you judge a person by what spirits feel drawn to them? My Keeper would say yes, but my Keeper also believes all spirits are demons when you interact with them. Being wrong on one thing doesn’t necessarily invalidate all she ever said, though. So I wonder, what does it say about someone, to whatever degree it says anything about them, to know what sort of spirits actually _choose_ someone’s company? Many cultures say that you can know a man by his friends and enemies; why should it be different here? Of course, I don’t want you to be my enemy!” Ellana sighed. “I’m rambling. Sorry.”

 

Wisdom smiled, pleased. “I am not your enemy. I do not know your Cole. I have known Solas for many, many years.”

 

“You’re one of his friends?”

 

“I am, yes.”

 

Ellana leaned toward Wisdom slightly, eager. “Will you be _my_ friend, too?” A dark flush started at her neck and sped up her face. “Oh, I sound like a child.”

 

“Someone could characterize it that way; I do not.” Wisdom tilted her head slightly, focused on some middle distance. “Your curiosity is the same, but you are so different in how you display it.”

 

Assuming Wisdom was comparing her to Solas, Ellana nodded. “I’m sure he was _much_ more dignified. I, I have a thousand thousand questions. I might sleep and query you my whole life and not know half of what I want to know by the end. There is so little time.”

 

“Hmm,” Wisdom seemed to agree. “I do not know everything, da’len.”

 

“You know things I don’t,” Ellana smiled, “and you have seen things I haven’t. That's more than enough for me.”

 

“Yes. What would you like to know?”

 

“ _Everything_ —“ and the laugh Wisdom graced her with was so beautiful, so unexpected and pure, that Ellana knew she would hold the precious memory of pleasing this spirit close to her heart until her death, “But first, can you tell me about this place?”

 

The world began to dissolve around her, too soon, before Wisdom had even begun to tell her anything it seemed, but the spirit’s patient smile was as clear a message as any spoken: they would meet again.

 

~*~

 

She came awake cradled in Solas’ arms by the living area fire, as he ran his hand through her hair, seeming to unbraid and braid it as the mood took him, running his fingers through it when it was free. “You're awake,” he noted.

 

“Mmm,” Ellana agreed, savoring the feeling of him playing with her hair for a minute. “Is it…I mean, the way I tend to…pass out, after…”

 

“Hmm?” Solas’ hand didn't falter in her hair.

 

“Well…is it normal?” Ellana disliked how small and unsure she sounded, but while she had heard of people falling asleep after sex, she couldn't really recall anyone talking about blacking out immediately after—even during?—their orgasm.

 

“Normal,” Solas mused, as though testing the weight of the word on his tongue. “No. It is an intoxicating compliment.”

 

“A compliment?”

 

His hand in her hair detoured to draw a nail lightly along the line of her ear, a low, pleased hum escaping him when she shivered and pressed closer. “You are so responsive, vhenan. That I can give you such pleasure that you so often experience the ‘little death’, that your reaction to me is so powerful, pleases me beyond recounting. Few couples are so compatible, so free; stress or ailment or discord will interfere and diminish the potency between them. Perhaps when your Season is done, these ‘little deaths’ will be less frequent. Normal, no, but certainly not wrong.”

 

Worries allayed, Ellana relaxed more fully into Solas’ embrace. “That’s what the Orlesians call it, right? The ‘little death’?” she asked. Solas only hummed noncommittally and she lay, eyes half-lidded and dozing until her stomach rumbled. “Oh,” she shifted, “the venison.”

 

Solas didn’t laugh, but amusement and affection rippled along their temporary bond, stronger than memory but weaker than native emotion. He nudged her to roll out of his grasp and indicated a plate and a tankard near to them. On the plate were some vegetables, a hunk of bread, and a steak on the larger and bloodier side of what she usually liked, which meant it was perfect. The tankard was larger than usual and contained only water.

 

Ellana tucked in and then halted, remembering her manners, at least a little. She took a sip of water to wash down her first few mouthfuls “Will you tell me more about the deeper bond you spoke of yesterday?” Ellana asked, forcing herself to eat at a normal pace regardless of how ravenous she felt or how enticing the meat smelled. “What we have is already potent, but what I felt in the bath…that was…”

 

“It is still the same day,” Solas murmured. “You were not asleep long.” When he paused again she looked at him to see if there was anything wrong, but he seemed mostly engaged with watching her as she ate by firelight, his eyes lingering appreciatively over her waist and bare breasts. He gathered his attentioni and looked to her face, stroking a braid back over her ear. “A marriage bond, a soulforge, would be like what we have in many ways. In other areas: potency, permanency, stability and subtlety, to name the key aspects, it would be very different. Nothing can truly sever a soulforge.”

 

Ellana raised an eyebrow at him, taking a piece of cut steak up with a piece of bread and eating it like a sandwich. “Tranquility?”

 

Solas held her gaze. “Nothing can truly sever a soulforge.” He repeated.

“Death?” she asked, teasing—but he only looked at her, steadily, refusing to repeat himself again. Ellana blinked, digesting that information as she continued to eat slowly. “ _Can_ someone in a soulforge die?”

 

Solas looked off into the middle distance, brow furrowing briefly before adopting an expression that struck her as suspiciously neutral. “I have only encountered the concept as it was between two of the Elvhen—the ancient Elvhen—for whom mortality was not a concern.” He seemed to search through his memory. “I have—seen—one partner of a soulforge pulled back to life by the other.”

 

“So while one lives, so the other will,” Ellana murmured, “and it’s irreversible,”

 

“To my knowledge.”

 

“To your…?”

 

Solas seemed distinctly uncomfortable. “There are…rumored rituals, some very akin to rendering someone Tranquil, all very dangerous. And then there is supposedly a natural dissolution, where the parties—and it must be both—do not feel each for the other as they did. Or…cannot. They are all…perversions.”

 

“And not the fun kind.”

 

He frowned. “Ellana.”

 

“When you scold me like that you sound about five thousand years old, _hahren_. But—don’t worry, I am taking this seriously.” Ellana examined his face, slowly finishing her meal and water and walking to the sink to wash everything. As she put the cleaned dishes in a rack to dry, she guessed “…not ‘feeling for each other as they did’. You're not talking about hatred, I think.”

 

“No,” Solas agreed. “I am talking about apathy. In the face of two people feeling nothing or next to nothing for each other, drawing from so little energy, the bond would in theory atrophy and evaporate. But it has never happened.”

 

“Or, is there just no memory of it happening?” Ellana murmured. “Can't say I've ever heard of someone feeling true apathy for a person they used to love. Feigning it, sure, but not feeling it—and I can only imagine that having the person constantly on the mind, a bit literally, can't help anyone move toward apathy.” She tried to imagine it, taking her love for various people out, imagining the emotion almost as a jewel, decreasing gradually to nothing. When that failed, she instead tried to directly imagine just _not caring_ about Solas, or even Cullen or Varric or Cole, and could not manage that at all. Then something worrisome occurred to her. “The bond we have now, this temporary mating, you said that it will dissipate. Is that…because…?”

 

Solas rose and moved to her side, stroked her jaw gently, his eyes gentle but insistent. “It is in the nature of the magic; it is not tied to what it needs to be to last. When this bond fades, it will not be any reflection of what we are to each other.”

 

She relaxed, surprised at the depth of her relief as Solas’ thumb stroked over her cheekbone. Her senses seemed to fill with the awareness of him next to her, his scent so close. Her magic threaded through the air, barely perceptible as it moved around him, feeling the solid reality of him so near. She offered Solas a small but genuine smile which he returned before getting his journal from the window seat, giving her a lingering look at he sat down that made her flush with heat, remembering their interlude earlier.

 

“The other—what I mean to ask is, the soulforge would persist even if one or both people actually _hated_ each other?” Ellana leaned her hip against the cold oven.

 

Solas paused, his stylus just shy of contact with a page in the journal. “Theoretically.” He set the journal to the side, refocusing his attention on her.

 

“How—why? I mean, how could anyone go from loving their partner enough to fashion a connection between their souls, to hating them?”

 

Solas smiled slightly, but it was off. Mechanical. “What makes you think that it requires love?”

 

“It’s a _marriage_ bond, you said.”

 

“It is.” He waited.

 

Ellana’s expression soured. “Human nobles and their political intrigues, that’s one thing, but to tether your _soul_ to someone just for power or influence or political gain? That’s _insane_.”

 

Solas smiled again, mirthless. “Perhaps. Perhaps it merely depends on the magnitude of the power, influence, and political gain.”

 

She huffed. “Control over the whole _world_ wouldn’t be reason enough.”

 

“Truly?” he asked, rising and coming to stand in front of her. “Are you thoroughly considering the possibility? What if a soulforge would allow you to close all the rifts, to properly heal the Breach so it didn’t even leave a green scar in the sky, to prevent any spirit from ever being pulled, unwilling, through the veil to become a demon, to prevent any mage from ever again becoming possessed—and the cost, the required sacrifice, was simply binding two people together? What then?”

 

Ellana stared, agape, remembering to close her mouth a moment later. She wanted to say that of course she would, but realized immediately that she was thinking of being bound to Solas, whom she wanted anyway. What if it required binding with someone else? Sacrificing her relationship with Solas, for a permanent, indescribably intimate connection with someone else, someone she had no interest in. Someone she hated? Corypheus jumped to mind and her stomach roiled, then lurched violently when she realized that she _couldn’t_ just say that she would, could, never.

 

She knew herself. She would send herself to any hell to be able to protect people that way, to prevent so much suffering. And her only hope of escape would be to hope that someday, perhaps even somehow beyond death, she _and_ Corypheus would feel so little for each other, less than even dislike, that they simply slipped free of the bond—and even that was pinning all her hopes on unproven supposition.

 

Solas watched her face, a shadow of approval in the lines of his eyes as he saw her really consider the issue, but growing concerned as she looked more and more disgusted and faint. “What are you imagining?”

 

Ellana swallowed, willing her stomach to settle. “A—with—it—it’s _not_ the case, though, right?”

 

Solas’ brows furrowed. “Control like that over the Veil?”

 

“Yes. A soulforge wouldn’t—there’s no one who—Corypheus…” Ellana swallowed again. She was _not_ going to vomit.

 

His expression changed with understanding and revulsion. She thought he suppressed a shudder. “No. No, a soulforge with him would not give you that power.”

 

Ellana sank to the floor in front of the sink, one hand slipping into her braided hair. “Thank Creators.” She exhaled unsteadily, fighting nausea. “ _Thank Creators_.” She was dimly aware of Solas kneeling next to her.

 

“It was not my intention to put _that_ image in your mind. Just to have you consider that something like control over the world could well be reason enough for someone to consider a soulforge, and not necessarily for selfish gain.” He hesitated, and even though he wasn’t projecting, she could feel his profound repulsion at his next words. “If there had been a chance at such control, you wouldn’t…?”

 

A sharp laugh barked out of her, and she didn’t care how she sounded. “I must be spending too much time with Leliana and Cullen, my mind jumping immediately to the worst possible scenario. Or maybe I just spend too much of my time trying to anticipate that bastard. Or something from every column.” She sighed and moved her fingers over and through her braids. “I understand—you were right, I wasn’t considering it seriously.” She left his question unanswered, a fact neither missed.

 

They were silent for long minutes, and just when she thought Solas was about to go back to whatever he had intended with his journal, Ellana touched his arm lightly.

 

“A couple, soulforged people who actually did it for love, they don’t…” she felt like a little girl wanting confirmation that some fairytale was true. “They don’t—wouldn’t just slip into hatred, right? Or apathy?”

 

Solas considered his words. “The last time such a bond was more than near myth, Elvhen were immortal. Even mountains shift under the weight of eons.” He smoothed his thumbs over her falling expression, kissing the furrow in her brow smooth and leaning his forehead against hers. “To my knowledge, every bond that began with love persisted that way, even if the love…changed.”

 

Ellana nodded and smiled, releasing his arm, something in the set of her eyes telling him that she did not fully believe him, or perhaps something in his posture telling her that he wasn’t sharing the entire truth. They let it lie.

 

~*~

 

The fatigue was a surprise to her, but not to Solas. After he helped her up and she yawned so long and wide that her jaw popped, Solas urged her back into bed and under covers. She expected him to join her, but he said something about refining the wards as she slipped into the Fade almost immediately after relaxing under the furs.

 

Solas sat at her side a while after that, stroking over her hair, intricately woven into classical Elvhen styles, and tracing the lines of her face with his eyes. Her sleep wasn’t untroubled, and he supposed that without his active influence she was probably dreaming more normally. Normally for her, at any rate. He drew his hand over her cheek, up her ear and down her neck in a soft caress, and her expression smoothed. Peaceful at least for the moment, then.

 

He rose and walked around the small house almost at random, refining runes, carving new ones, setting his own spells into the wood and stone and glass, fortifications and warning systems and subtler tones, spells of inquiry and summons which no other living elf knew. Too risky to perform such things while she was awake and attentive, and while she was awake, with their bond, she was always attentive to him. The thought made him smile slightly.

 

Finally he stood in the center of his many rings of wards, closing his eyes and concentrating, feeling, _reaching_ with his magic. He felt the wards expand outward from him like ripples on a pond, traps and tripwires for detecting—

 

 _There_.

 

A single dwarf approaching from the northwest, identifiable by the way they moved through the physical world, interacting with his magic, but did not so much as shift the equivalent of a dust mote in the Fade. He acknowledged privately that he still found that viscerally disturbing—but the disquiet was familiar and easily, habitually shunted aside. Unlikely as it was that the dwarf was just a wanderer, he stood, and waited to see if they would come closer, trip a more sensitive ward that would give him more information.

 

Later than he expected, she did—definitely still alone, definitely working her way closer, though carefully. Stealthily, probably. He wondered if she was aware of the lines she was crossing, the alarms she had already set off? But it didn’t matter much—experience told him that it was likely Scout Harding approaching, and Harding meant Leliana. He expected that the Spymaster had ordered the scout to follow them, perhaps not with any particular suspicion, but simply as a matter of course, to keep eyes on the Inquisitor. It was what he would do in her place—the risk of violating some cultural taboo by becoming privy to a species-specific secret was far too little incentive to allow someone so valuable to go unmonitored with the team member about whom the organization had the _least_ information.

 

 _Well. Next to Cole_.

He walked to the door and pressed his palm against the center, concentrating again. The things that the non-Elvhen didn’t need to know could fill worlds of libraries, and he agreed with Ellana that the Season was well placed in that category. Masking it with an unwanted observer actually in proximity would have been a huge challenge—for a modern mage. But perception was more easily altered than anyone liked to admit, and did not even begin to require the use of a tool as crude as blood magic. He counted himself somewhat lucky that while dwarves were _resistant_ to magic, they were not impervious to it, and reacted to it in the environment much like anyone else. A cold spell might have trouble freezing a dwarf, but fire it on the grass and they would see the frost and feel the chill like anyone else. The same principle applied.

 

He worked his magic through the door and frame, apportioning a sliver of his attention to his mate— _lover only, for now_ , he thought—making sure that she did not notice the strange magic he performed, and then he applied his will and the room _shifted_.

 

Where the air had been clear, it was hazy, smoky. What had been the smell of a meal and the fading musk of sex was now the cloying, sick-sweet smell of illness and the sharp, bitter salt tang that anyone would associate with the sweat of the unwell. He looked over his shoulder at Ellana and was satisfied when she seemed to shift restlessly but weakly, and it was difficult to tell whether she was truly moving or if it was simply the shifting smoke confusing the eye. Solas looked at his hand which seemed scrubbed raw and grass stained, and was satisfied that his face would look appropriately tired and stressed.

 

He cleared the dishrack and the evidence of cooking, taking out the elements for making potions and arranging them on the surfaces, throwing a few pungent smelling herbs into a pot of low water that he set to heat over the fire. He got a stylus and parchment from his things, allowing the papers to look slightly scattered, and wrote a note to Ellana’s Keeper in a very rare and unusual Elvhen dialect. In all likelihood the Keeper (What had Ellana called her? Davhalla? Deshanna?) for Clan Lavellan—the faint irony of the name made him smirk in less guarded moments—would not be able to read it, but if perchance her grasp of Elvhen was beyond his estimation (going by the somewhat abysmal skills of her First, Ellana), then all it would tell her was that Ellana had entered a Season, and was being attended to. Still, it would doubtless cause some consternation among Leliana’s translators once it left his hands, and a literal translation into a more common dialect would render so much gibberish.

 

Then all there was to do was wait. He banked the fire—dimmer was better—and settled into a slightly slumped posture over one of his journals, writing. His furthest ward was perhaps a mile out, but it was still almost two hours, nearly midnight, before Harding knocked lightly on the door. Solas glanced at Ellana to make sure she was still asleep and rose slowly to answer. He cracked it open, sure to cast a skeptical and unwelcoming eye over Scout Harding as she stood an unthreatening distance away from the entrance, apparently comfortable despite the cold wind and scattered small frosted puddles. He saw her nose crinkle briefly before she cleared her expression and stood straighter.

 

 _A successful illusion, then_.

 

“Scout Harding.”

 

“Ah, you remembered.” She tried for a smile, clearly hoping for the camaraderie and banter Ellana usually displayed.

 

Solas frowned, but tried to look more tired than impolite. He stood slightly straighter. “I remember you.” He glanced behind him for good measure, catching Harding looking around him from the corner of his eye, then turned back to her. “I cannot invite you inside. The Inquisitor already explained the situation to her advisors.”

 

“Yeah,” Harding nodded, “I was briefed. I came to deliver a message from the Inquisitor’s Keeper.”

 

Solas’ eyebrows raised. That, he had not expected. _Did she write to her Keeper about her Season_? It seemed unlikely, Ellana more than anyone aware that no high-level correspondence got in or out without going past more than a few non-Elvhen eyes. “It’s urgent?”

 

Harding nodded somberly. “Definitely. Trouble in the Free Marches.” She handed him a worn missive and a fresher small sheaf of paper, tilting her head towards the bundle. “That’s what each advisor wants to do about it. I’m to wait here and return to Skyhold with the Inquisitor’s orders.” She shifted slightly, unsure. “That is, if she’s able…?”

 

Solas frowned down at the letter, skimming it. Written in Common, bandits harassing the clan, unusual—and then the recommendations from Cullen, Leliana, and Josephine. He considered making a decision himself and telling her when she woke, but—no. Distant as any analogues were for him, he could remember the feelings; this was about family.

 

He assumed. He suddenly realized that he did not know whether Ellana’s parents were alive or dead, never mind siblings or— _not the time_.

 

“I will wake her. Please wait here.”

 

He left the door ajar—with the runes and wards there would hardly be any draft, and better for Harding to take her time to look at the interior so she could report to Leliana that the Inquisitor was truly—if only momentarily—incapacitated. He sat on the bed blocking Harding’s line of sight and shook Ellana gently awake. She opened her eyes slowly and her gaze slid to him, a more affectionate or energetic response cut off by his brusque way of waking her. Professionalism for professionalism.

 

Her voice was low and mostly clear of sleep, perfect to not carry any further than necessary. “Threat?” he could feel her magic begin to gather, ready despite lacking augmentation by enchanted robes or direction through a staff.

 

Solas laid a hand on her shoulder, shaking his head. “Not here.” He gestured for her to sit up which she did, slowly and cautiously, the furs falling to pool around her waist. he pressed the papers into her hands. “News from your Keeper. Groups of what seem to be bandits harrying them in force, and the recommendations from your advisors.”

 

Ellana’s eyes narrowed on him, then dropped to the papers in her hands. Faster than he had skimmed them, her eyes darted over all three, and then she set them aside, eyes closed, face tight. Solas fought the urge to tell her what to choose—she was more than capable, and there was a chance it wasn’t welcome. He watched her eyes move beneath her eyelids, as though she were reading yet more reports, or remembering. Eventually, she gestured for ink and quill, which he retrieved. He watched, approving, as she dipped a small finger into the ink, drawing a broad X over Josephine’s suggestion. Ellana paused then, holding Leliana’s suggestion in one hand and Cullen’s in the other, before drawing a circle and signing under Leliana’s. nevertheless, she wrote instructions, orders under both suggestions—in case of substitution?—and reread them before nodding slightly and folding and handing the two pieces of paper back to Solas.

 

She glanced over his shoulder at the door. “Harding?” she asked lowly.

 

Solas nodded.

 

“Tell her I said ‘hi’, then.” Glancing around the house, she frowned. “I’m not going to ask what you did to this place. Good job; it’s disgusting.”

 

“Smoke and overripe meat goes a long way.”

 

Ellana scanned him, and he was reminded of the way she had tracked game, the way she assessed enemies and unknowns. He had clearly triggered her full Inquisitor attitude, and the worry over her clan was too fresh to shake it off. “I would buy that,” she murmured, her voice at that same low, discreet register, “if the house smelled like smoke and overripe meat.” She moved her right hand between them around which she had cast a nebulous Dispel, showing him the clear air, the undisguised truth extending a foot in any direction from her palm, as though to finish with _and if I weren’t dispelling whatever you did as we speak_.

 

She pressed the mark to the papers in his hand and he felt the familiar magic go through them, smelled the particular sent of _not quite_ burning paper, and looked down to see the green gash in miniature on the papers, a signature far more unique than ink. He quirked an eyebrow at her.

 

“A method of verification I talked over with Cullen,” he shoved the violent surge of irrational jealousy down. Of course she spoke with the commander of her military forces about such things. “And Leliana, but Leliana and Josie are insensitive to this kind of thing. They wouldn’t be able to tell magical residue from glowing mushroom dust.” She cancelled the spell in her right hand and scrubbed it down her face. “Give those to Scout Harding.” A beat. “Please.”

 

Solas did as she asked, slipping his note to Keeper Deshanna in with the other papers, and barely paid attention to Harding as she thanked him and wished the Inquisitor a swift recovery, and was off. He waited until Harding crossed the ward line three hundred meters out from the house before dismantling his illusions with a sigh of relief. Even knowing it was a slight, his senses had reacted to the smell of a sickroom as though it were genuine. When he returned to the bed Ellana was curled almost into a ball on the far side. He slid behind her under the furs, but refrained from gathering her to him when she didn’t shift. He watched her back until her breathing evened out from simply measured into true sleep, and then let himself slip into the Fade after her.

 

When the Fade settled around him, though, she was not there. He briefly looked through the places she had been with him or his wolf—the great wood, the pavilion, the crystal tower, the Breach, Haven. She was in none of those, or fled as he entered. He considered their bond, a connection which would lead him to her side in the space of a thought, if he chose—and glanced to the side as Wisdom materialized beside him. Having long since learned not to assume what spirits did and did not see, he told her about Clan Lavellan, and Ellana pulling away.

 

“She needs only time,” the spirit said placidly, “which you know.”

 

Solas huffed, irritated and more hurt than he would have anticipated that Ellana did not choose to share her worries with _him_ , but seemed instead to prefer to be alone. “Even here,” he muttered, leaning against the wall of the Haven tavern, his appearance shifting and flickering between how he had appeared there (not that he had so much as set foot in the place during its active hours), and how he had appeared as a much younger man, all long, dark braids, and pelt, and—pride.

 

Wisdom arched one eyebrow at him. “Are you sure that’s…”

 

“What? Wise?” Solas chuckled. He made a sweeping gesture over the surroundings. “We are the only ones here.”

 

Wisdom only looked at him until he sighed and his aspect settled. He ran a hand through his hair, while it remained, frustrated, before looking out at the pass that Corypheus’ army had marched through. Solas remembered how he had felt about leaving her there, grieving vaguely, _just one more, after all_ , planning to track the vile thief though his next attempt and retrieve his orb. He remembered the first time he had grasped her wrist and shoved his mark towards a rift, closing it, ignoring her shriek of pain, offended at even that much of his power contained by a limited, empty vessel. And then later, later, when he had seen her properly, _finally_ , and had held her wrist again, here, without pain, feeling the proper _scope_ of being—his hand flexed, fingers closing on empty air.

 

“Unodheaan aron'syl tan'vunin. As sasha nuvenas alasis, falon.” Wisdom said gently.

 

“Eolasan.” Solas snapped. He understood needing space to sort through things more than most. What he was not prepared for was Ellana needing space from _him_. “Eolasan,” he repeated, more softly, “y nuvenan...ra'silaima.”

 

Wisdom watched him for long moments, considering. Solas sighed and relaxed further against the wall, comforted just by the presence of such an old friend. He did not expect her next words. “Neras'el sul'asa o dhruam.” Solas’ expression tightened. “Y…lathas asa?”

 

Solas looked into the sky, past the perception of Haven to hovering worlds that shifted and flitted away from his perception like startled schools of fish. In Elvhen, he noted wryly, “ _Isn’t that what I said to her_? _Yes, I love her, fate be damned_.”

 

“ _You did not gain a reputation as a deceiver without telling a few lies_ ,” Wisdom noted.

 

“ _I did not lie to her_.” Solas said firmly, then paused. “… _about that_.”

 

Wisdom laughed. “ _As you say_.” She considered him a long while, and he breathed into the silence, mulling over Ellana’s reaction to him— _no, to the news of her clan_ —and his reaction to that in turn.

 

“ _She can share this burden with me_ ,” he finally said.

 

Wisdom hummed. “ _Does_ she _know that_?”

 

“ _Of course. She shared her Season with—ah_.” Solas fell silent as he remembered that Ellana had in fact _not_ intended to expose her Season to him, nor to anyone else. It had been entirely accidental. He fought the urge to run his hand through his hair again, an old habit he was used to indulging around an old friend.

 

Wisdom smiled and touched his arm gently, asking the question she had asked him uncounted times before. “Solas. _Are you thinking_?”

 

He opened his mouth to answer, but felt a change in the bond. It was not a tether, it did not strain with distance, and yet there was a kind of relaxing as he sensed Ellana approaching. She wasn’t trying to find him precisely, but she was not actively avoiding him anymore, either. He saw her, hazy and small, on the opposite side of Haven’s frozen lake. “ _If poets are more than mere madmen_ ,” he hazarded, “ _this is not a situation governed by wisdom_.”

 

Wisdom tilted her head in acknowledgement. “ _Nor do I seek to govern it._ I _do not wish to be other than I am_.”

 

Solas smiled at the oblique reference to their old debate. Ellana had begun to wander the woods, gradually approaching the walls. He allowed the wolf to meet her there and endured his usual mixed feelings at her easy welcome and trust of the creature. When Ellana climbed onto the wolf’s back, Wisdom cut her eyes to him in humor, and he shrugged, and her expression changed.

 

“ _You have not told her_.” Wisdom noted. A small furrow formed between Wisdom’s brows, less than censure, more than concern.

 

“ _No_.” Solas’ left hand, out of sight between himself and the tavern wall, curled into a fist. “ _What would you have me do_? _Tell her that_ I _am the great evil of her mythology_?”

 

Wisdom watched as the Wolf trotted towards the gates, Ellana curled into its back, less riding it than being carried. “E, falon. Telsilan sul’na.”

 

He had no response to that.

 

The Wolf trotted up to them and carefully lowered itself in front of Solas. After a minute, Ellana sat up, her face dry but her eyes looking as though she’d been crying. The Fade was noticeably more somber around her, an aura of duller color and slower light. “You do have a mind of your own with where to take me,” she said softly to the Wolf. Its ears flicked but it otherwise gave no sign of having heard her. “Someday I’ll figure out what you are,” she promised. Solas felt it like a spill of chill water down his back, more portent than offhand comment.

 

“Vhenan,” he said, standing straight. He thought to say one thing, then reconsidered, and the pause stretched.

 

“Vhenan,” Ellana returned, giving him a small, weak smile. She looked at Wisdom. “I don’t know what you observe and what you do not. My clan…”

 

Wisdom tilted her head slightly in greeting. “Solas told me.”

 

Ellana looked down at her hands, hidden in the mass of black fur she was gripping. “Did I choose the right thing?”

 

“I cannot answer that.” Wisdom said. “I cannot know the future.”

 

“Yes, of course,” Ellana muttered. “I asked too much. Ar ir abelas.”

 

“Tel’abelas.” Wisdom waved dismissively, then laid a hand on Ellana’s shoulder. “I _can_ tell you that I do not think your choice at all foolish. You have only the information you are given.”

 

Ellana smiled at Wisdom gratefully. “Coming from you, that means more than I can say. Ma’serannas.”

 

Wisdom waved again and stepped back, fading to be barely present as Ellana looked at Solas. Ellana supposed it was the Fade equivalent of someone turning their back and directing their attention elsewhere so as to give others privacy without actually leaving. She briefly wondered about Fade etiquette ( _was_ there such a thing? A question for later), then met Solas’ eyes.

 

“Is it rude to ask the same question when Wisdom has already answered?” she wondered aloud. “Did I choose the right thing, Solas?” Before he could answer, she clutched the Wolf’s fur and closed her eyes against tears. “Have I doomed my clan?”

 

Solas frowned at the ground a moment, then stepped closer. Seated as she was on the back of the Wolf, they were of a height. He cupped her cheek and rested his forehead against hers. “It is what I would have done,” he said. _Faint praise, to be sure_ , he thought—but she did not know his track record and his immense mistakes.

 

Ellana nodded, wrapping her arms around his waist. “Thank you, vhenan.” She leaned into him and settled against his shoulder with his chin on her hair.

 

Solas slipped an arm around her waist and stroked over her hair with his opposite hand, closing his eyes briefly to savor her. He opened his eyes and acknowledged Wisdom’s goodbye as the spirit let them be, but otherwise did not move, resolved to stand and hold Ellana for however long she decided she needed it, hoping that her trust and the comfort he offered survived her transition to the waking world.

 

~*~

 

Ellana stirred around midmorning the following day, the heat of her Season chasing her out of the Fade. It had reached them like waves lapping at their feet, warm water that rose to engulf them—and then she was awake. She pressed close to Solas without preamble, needing him, needing to be close, driven. It was desire, but deeper than and separate from her Season, even as it got tangled up with it. _I love you, isalan na, Solas_ —

 

Flooded with relief that the aloof Inquisitor from the night had returned to his Ellana, and half asleep himself, Solas opened their connection wide as he rolled over her, and they fell into each other, drinking in the memories, the feeling, reveling.

 

_—a young Solas, when he was only Solas, playing sports, magic and nets and so dangerous but he was so good and so assured of his skill—_

_—Ellana, eight, splaying nets of fire between her fingers as her father looked on, proud and sad, before everything changed—_

_—luxury and servants and people to wait on him because that’s what people did, and then meeting a woman, powerful mage like none other, the first and the only to treat him like the spoilt child he was, but somehow so kind—_

_—people chanting, bowing, calling “Herald, Herald,” but no, she could not do this, she was not some shem god’s messenger, their adulation would break her, their expectations—_

_—her, seeing her, stolen power, small like the rest of them, but no, she_ was _, she existed, bold and_ real _despite the broken world, changing everything—_

_—snowy nights studying, sneaking off to the shem settlements, horror at the alienages, then to thinly veiled battlegrounds and graveyards, feeling her magic, feeling the press of the Fade, but never too long, just a little longer, oh—_

_—it had to be done, it must, the corruption and greed would destroy them anyway, infighting and ravenous conquest and they would not listen but must it have come to this, it needn't have, this burden, this death upon death and he couldn't—_

_—her father's hand on her shoulder, her mother’s blood drying and flaking between her short fingers, bile in her throat and a Templar dead at her feet and what had she_ done _, oh Creators—_

_—sanctuary, his friends, his only friends after so much death, the comforting, thick malleability of the Fade, the only places that felt real anymore, and yet she, she—_

_—her parents’ voices so hard to remember now, and so alone, such weight, but fledgling friendships to sustain her like a trickle of water in a desert and then most of all him, he_ —

 

_I love you (I’m more interested in “felt”)_

_I love you (You change everything)_

 

Ellana gasped as she surfaced, coming back to herself, the bond closing enough to distinguish themselves again, but still open. _Always at least a little open, should we marry; never truly alone again_ , she realized. The thought was comforting and daunting in turns. She found herself lying on top of Solas in the bed, pressing small kisses under his jaw, nuzzling his neck below his ear. His hands moved over her naked back in smooth long draws, pressing her close, holding her. She felt more than hear his low hum, _emma lath_ , and realized that she was humming, too.

 

Had they…? Ellana felt herself flush, far happier than she was embarrassed. The way their thoughts had come together, though slipping through her grasp like wind as she tried to hold on to it, was more intimate than anything she had imagined, and the sense of belonging, of knowing and being entirely, wholly open, and welcome in equal measure—indescribable. A distant corner of her mind persisted that she had revealed dangerous things, things about her parents and her childhood he was sure to question, but she just…

 

 _Ir shathe_.

 

Neither wanted to speak or shift at all. Here was perfect happiness, pure closeness, a satiety that went deeper than the carnal or even the corporeal. She cupped his face with one hand, pressing her cheek to the other side. _Emma lath_.

 

Solas smiled into her hand, kissed the edge of her palm. He felt the strains of worry and fear creeping in at the edge of her thoughts, and sifted through his trove of knowledge for something to distract her, something fascinating, beautiful, captivating. He sought her attention through the link, and showed her—

 

_A great forest, like the one she’d walked through in the Fade with her wolf, but this was real, or it predated the distinction between the real and the fade. It predated… it predated?…it…_

_The forest was older than the People. Older than cities and civilization and time and their world, not part of their world, and it still grew. The songs it sang, over decades, centuries, millennia, each tree growing into its part, shaping itself to contribute and change its notes. The utter, fundamental certainty of each, from sapling to great russet and gray giant, that they would live to sing with their fellows, and live, and live, time meaningless except as a measure for the song._

_Then, later, so much later and impossible to tell how far since the beginning, the People who studied these songs, who presumed to sing with the great wood. Who listened—just listened—over centuries, over millennia, as assured as the great trees that they had the time, that the time was immaterial, except as a measure for the song. Confidence, and peace, and beauty. And…?_

 

 _Lath_. Solas supplied for her. _Esh’an unlath adahl’en_.

 

Her mind stuttered to understand. The People loving the forest was simple enough, but to have that love returned, a strange affection, respect, the emotion of an entity that did not individuate, the thoughts of an intelligence which was giving _swift_ consideration if it gave only a decade. Stunning that the People had even been noticed, astounding that the forest had any opinion of them at all.

 

_Through it all, the song._

“Where do you find these memories?” Ellana whispered. “I’ve never…I don’t…”

 

Solas shook his head and kissed her cheek. “The Fade,” he stated, tone lazy and mind elsewhere as his smoothed his hands down from her waist. Ellana felt a rush of wild desire, like a tide that came in the blink of an eye, almost mindless and _singing_ to her, making her arch and moan as Solas claimed her mouth in an almost punishing kiss that was as much teeth as tongue. He had rolled her beneath him again, pressed a kiss to her sternum as his hand worked between her legs, before she realized that the rush of sensation had come from _him_ , not her.

 

“Are you…?”

 

“Ara melana vhellal sar,” he said, agreeably, lifting her knee to his side before hooking his elbow under it and aligning himself with her still ready sex.

 

“All I understood in that was ‘my Season’.”

 

“Mine has risen to match yours,” he translated obligingly, watching her reaction with slitted, eager eyes.

 

Ellana’s eyes widened as she absorbed his words, her expression tinged with excitement and a small measure of intimidation. His Season hardly changed anything, really, but it made one thing easier. Solas allowed himself a wolfish grin before kissing her hard, submerging them both in sensation. He kept her blissfully unable to concentrate the rest of the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvhen Terms  
> Da’len – little one, young one (term of endearment)  
> Unodheaan aron'syl tan'vunin. As sasha nuvenas alasis, falon. – You have been breathing the same air for three days. She only wants/needs space, dear friend.  
> Eolasan – I know  
> Eolasan, y nuvenan...ra'silaima. – I know, but I want…forget it (lit. ignore it)  
> Neras'el sul'asa o dhruam. – You like her more than you believed [you would].  
> Y…lathas asa? – Or…[do] you love her?  
> E, falon. Telsilan sul’na. – Oh, dear friend. I worry for you.  
> Ar ir abelas – I’m so sorry (lit. “I so sorry”)*  
> Tel’abelas – Do not be sorry**  
> Ar abelas – I’m sorry  
> Ma’serannas – Thank you
> 
> Isalan na – I want you (sexually)  
> Shathe, ir shathe – [I’m] happy, so happy  
> Esh’an unlath adahl’en. – They loved the forest  
> Ara melana vhellal sar – My season is meeting yours
> 
> *Remember, her Elvhen is still kinda shite. And while this actually could be considered a correct sentence because in Elvhen RULES WHAT ARE THEY, I’ve decided that when a (non-suffix/prefix) modifier (so/very/really/etc.) is involved, and you aren’t just implying the subject but actually stating it (Ar, or “I” in English), then you had better have your associated verb in there, so it should have been “Ar eman ir abelas” (I have great sorrow), or “Ar ame ir abelas” (I am very sorry). But, Hades, I care more about this than _Solas_ does in this story, so—well.  
>  **This is less of an order than an acknowledgement of the apology, in the same way we do not literally mean “no problem” or “no bother” in response to “thank you”. However, just like our other offhand acknowledgements, context and tone could encourage a more literal or forceful interpretation. Not here though.
> 
> Project Elvhen is a goddamn godsend. It doesn’t make sense for me to worry about sentence structure like I have since Elvhen is… not a proper conlang (constructed languages). That both makes me a little sad and makes me feel much better, because it means that there’s a little less than I hoped there when I began looking into it, but also that I don’t just really suck at this for some reason when I've gotten on so well with other conlangs.  
> …although it does kind of mean I have a lot of Elvhen to go back over and fix. Dammit. Or not. I am very tired and very lazy.  
> Regarding Solas’ conversation with Wisdom, as noted, that is actually entirely in Elvhen (until Ellana shows herself)—but fascinated as I am with the conlang, I figure that it would at best be irritating to have the whole conversation written in Elvhen in the chapter. The odd phrase here or there is one thing. Seventeen consecutive lines is probably too much.
> 
> Chapter Notes:  
> Non-story things after the commercial break (~*~).  
> They’re still in the honeymoon stage. And they’re still nuts for each other (Solas especially, which is why when Wisdom asks if he’s properly thinking things through, his response is basically “No, and I’m not going to”). But they can’t all be happy sexy fluffy times. The way I played it, as I recall, I contacted the clan after Halamshiral. The issue with her clan is particularly interesting with a Lavellan who romances (openly and rather insensitively anti-Dalish) Solas. I found it odd that the fate of her _entire family_ was something that she didn’t discuss with anyone unless you screw up and everyone she grew up with _dies_ , resulting in some party banter.  
> Call me crazy, but just their being in danger seemed like the sort of thing she would have mentioned to someone, expressed worry about. Even when others are dealing with things that are explicitly about family (HI DORIAN), your Inquisitor is just _silent_ about her clan. Okay, public figure with no privacy blah blah stoically forging on blah blah, but shit, man. Everybody understands what it means that there’s even a chance that you’ll put Iron Bull in the position of having no Qun to go back to after the Inquisition, and the game clearly acknowledges his need to work through _whichever_ outcome. But Inqy? Nah, she’s totes going to be able to deal alone with having everything familiar and familial to her imperiled. Absolutely.
> 
> (~*~)  
> Hospitalization sucks balls.  
> Maybe I should be more articulate about it than that—craft some pithy and poetic expression of fury and fatigue, but disease is just shitty. It’s not poetic, it’s not a Hemmingway short story. Some small part of me is sorry about the time this took, more of me is fucking furious at not having control over my own godsbedamned body.  
> So. No promises going forward about timelines (I like to keep my promises, and making promises I can keep is rather key to that). But it would take a helluva thing to make me abandon this story, like a(nother) diagnosis of some chronic incurable thing. Or death.
> 
> So! No worries. (if life had a sound effect for tempting fate, it would go here)


End file.
